THE GALAXY. VOL. XIV.JULY, 1872.No. 1. A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. CHAPTER I. IF there be any spot on the earth where a cloudless summer morning is more lovely and its sunshine more glorious than it is elsewhere, that spot is cert~ inly the Valley of Chamouni. When Mont Blanc rises a dazzlingly white Colossus against a background of purest, intensest blue, and sets the aw- ful pearls of his crown in the glowing gold of the unclouded summer sunshine, when ~very waterfall leaping from the mountain walls on either side is a flash- ing sheet of emerald, when the transparent air cheats you of half the apparent distance, and brings the far-off peaks within seemingly an easy half hours walk, then is Chamouni doubly beautiful in its morning loveliness, and morn- ing itself is f~drer because it shines over Chamouni. It was on such a day, on one cloudless July morning, that our tale opens. The street in front of the H6tel de lEurope was crowded with guides and don- keys, and within the hotel itself other donkeys, in the shape of British tourists, who charged madly around in gray Knickerbocker suits, gray worsted stock- ings which displayed calves of astounding proportions, and with white muslin scarfs tied round their hats, these scarfs looking very much as though some in- fantile members of their party had attached their clean cale~ons to the head- gear aforesaid. The strong-yninded British female was also presentvery fat, very red-faced, and highly respectable, not to say aristocraticand was heguilin~ the time before starting for the Montanvert and the Mer de Glace, by exhorting her youn~er and more comely companion not to descend to such undue famil- iarity with the guide as to take his arm, unless danger actually st~ red them in the face. He may take hold of our hands to help us over the ice, my dear, but be sure to discoura~e anything further. Olt est mon guide~ she continued, turning to the femme de chambre, who had brought down Miladys shabby wa- terproof and little green plaid travelling hag, and pronouncin~ the last word exactly as it is in English. Plait-il ? said the astonished girl, who was new to her post, and not familiar therefore with the amazing French spoken by the natives of Great Britain. Ab these Swiss are so stupid! they never can un- derstand Parisian French. MeanwhIle the guide whowith one very small donkey was to have the privilege of conveying the two stout ladies up the Montanvert, they proceeding on the ride-and-tie principlewas standing outside in solemn, not to say gloomy meditation, for the females were heavy and the mountain is steep. Then there was the strong-minded female of Amerien, 1 1~nlered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by SHEr~DO~N & CourAxY, in the Office of the Librarian of Conk, ess, at Washington, I). C. 6 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. [Jutr, Miss Klickwire of Boston, who rejoiced in the possession of glasses, a water- proof suit, corkscrew curls, forty summers, sin~le-blesseduess, and general scragginess; who had ascended triumphantly the day before to the summit of the Br6vent, and who was generally supposed to be meditating an attack on the Monarch of the Mountains himself. A group of Frenchwomenblack-eyed, sallow-complexioned, and good-looking, with their heads arranged in the most elaborate of Parisian styles, but with their forms clothed in wide, baggy trou- sers and loose blouses of dark-brown stuff, the latter reaching but little below their waistsstood at one side chattering among themselves, and perfectly cal- lous to the disapproving glances cast upon their amazing attire by the other fe- male guests of the hotel. Two pretty, fair-haired, stylish-looking New York girls, in jaunty hats and neat gray travelling suits, were the observed of all ob- servers, as they came forward, followed by their stout, jolly-looking papa, to pat their donkeys and inspect their side-saddles. Now there is a rush and a scramble, and a oeneral climbing up and mounting of donkeys, and the caval- cades move off in different dir~ctions, as the Br6vent, the Fl6g& re ,and the Mon- tanvert claim tbe attention of the different parties. The French females start for the Br~vent, not riding in masculine fashion, as the male portion of the spectators had fondly hoped on first beholding their costumes that they would do; the pretty Americans turn toward the Fh~g~re, and so decide three young gentlemen to give up the Montanvert for that day and start for the Fl~g~re also; and the stout British matron turns her rubicund face resolutely in the di~ rection of the Mer de Glace, while her companion and friend trudges sturdily along beside her, though the day is hot and the road is rough. It is no joke for two fat women to go on an excursion in Switzerland with only one donkey between them. And now the last of the many parties has got fairly oft; the last donkey has clattered off with his load, the last pedestrian has shouldered his Aipenstock and departed, and solitude and quietness settle down upon the TiOtel de lEurope. One lonely guest still, sits lingering ovet the coffee and rolls, the mountai~n strawberries, and golden honey of a late breakfast, while he glances over the columns of a week-old Galignani, which lies spread open before him. He and the flies have it all their own way in the long, deserted dining-room, so crowded and so noisy scarce an hour before. It is quiet enough now; the plash of the distant waterfalls le~ ping down the mountain walls which shut in the village of Chamouni so closely on two sid~s, is the only sound that breaks the Sabbath-like stillness, if we except an occasional tinkle from the bell of some cow straying from its pasture, and the bay of a big St. Bernard who is object- ing to the near approach of a passing wagon drawn by two sleepy-looking mules. It is pleasant to sit, as our traveller does, near the open window, and feel the warm, perfumed breeze touch his .cheek with a half-timid, half-fond ca- ress, and to look out over the green expanse of pasture and valley to the awful glories of the Alps, to Mont Blanc, terrible yet beautiful, towering snow-white, solen~n, silent, in the transparent summer air. It is by reason of this silence, this unchanging grandeur, that there is something oppressive in mountain scenery. Old Ocean is a sociable monster, and though ready to tear your home to pieces, to engulf your treasures and your ships, to smother the life out of you, or to crush you piteously beneath his mighty grasp, yet is he garrulous, communicative; he babbles softly in the sunshine; to the pebbles on the beach he growls forth his rage in the tempest; be sulks sullenly beneath the shadow of a cloud. But who knows the moods of Mont Blanc? Who that invades his dominions can tell the monicnt when sentence of death may not be pronounced A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 7 1872.] against the rash intruder? He utters no warning, he knows no pity, and his executionei~, the avalanche, the crevasse, the jagged rock, are also without mercy. Some such thoughts as these flitted through Miles Stanleys mind as, his breakfast finished, his bill paid, and his walking equipments donned, he stood at the doorway of the hotel about to take his departure. He had done all the sights of Chamouni thoroughly, had been up the Bnivent and the Fl~g~re, had crossed the Mer de Glace from the Montanvert, and come down by the (ihapeau, and had even had thoughts of ascending Mont Blanc. But one or two fatal accidents which had lately occurred during such ascensions had ren- dered the guides wary, if not timid; they talked of evil signs and impending storms, and managed to dissuade the young traveller from his purpose. Not that he was much bent upon it; for he was singularly shy and unsociable by nature, and the thought of the close companionship with guides, porters, etc., not to speak of the volunteer companions who are always ready to go if any- body else will, and probably also a little wholesome dread of Miss Klickwire, the strong~minded, who had announced her intention of making the ascent with the very first party that started, had caused him to be easily dissuaded. He was therefore about to turn his back upon Chamouni and its grand scen- cry, but without any definite purpose as to the spot toward which he was next to bend his wandering footsteps. His intention was to explore some of the minor valleys and unfrequented roads which might chance to lie between Cha- mouni and Sallenches, and on reaching the latter place he could either easily obtain a conveyance or continue his journey to Geneva on foot, as his inclina- tions might dictate. He had sent, his luggage on to Geneva, he had paid his bill, and, shy and unsociable as he was, he had made no acquaintances in the hotel to whom he would be expected to say good-by or to confide his plans; mind so he sallied forth into the bright July sunshine, a free and unencumbered man. He lingered a moment at the windows of the shops where Swiss crystals and wood-work are sold, and, tempted by something which he saw displayed therein, he entered one of the shops and spent some fifteen or twenty minutes in turning over the different trinkets of onyx, lapis lazuli, crystal, and amethyst, which were there exhibited. Finally he purchased a string of very beautiful amethyst beads, had them carefully enveloped in cotton, and placed them in his travelling bag. Then he started afresh, amid soon left the village with its tiny houses and gigahtic hotels far behimfd him. He followed the broad smooth post road for some time, looking with admiration on the traces of French skill and ingenuity everywhere visible in its construction; but soon growing weary of so commonplace a mode of progression, he suffered himself to be tempted by a narrow little road, a mere bridle-path, which stretched away among the rocks and trees, and set forth on the first of his projected explorations. He got along very well for a few hours. The path, though not very smooth, was clearly defined, and, as Stanley said to himself, it had to terminate somewhere. But it wound about in the most perplexing style, now descend- ing for a little way and then tending upward, and twisting round giant trees, great masses of rock, and tangled thickets, in a manner that perplexed and wearied him sorely. If this be pedestrian exercise in Switzerland, thought he, Ill een re- turn to civilization and diligences as soon as possible. Neyertheless he persevered, and after some hours of hard travel the path suddenly emerged from the forest, and Stanley found himself standing on a A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 8 [JULY, projection on the side of the mountain, and with a view, lovely as Swiss views only can ever be, spread out before him. The mountain sloped downward in an almost sheer descent, perfectly bare of trees for the greater part of the dis- tance, and glowing with the deep red tints of the Alpine rose. At the foot of th~ descent lay a smooth, green valley, a sort of emerald bay of verdure, which curved inward in horse-shoe shape, and was shut in on three sides by the mighty amphitheatre of giant hills around. On the fourth side a road stretched away into the dim distance, and was lost to view as it curved round the base of a far-off mountain. A few houses were scattered over the sward, looking, at the distance from which Stanley beheld them, like the toy cottages of a child, placed at random upon a carpet of green velvet. The sight of these dwellings cheered his soul. He had been walking for some hours, he was get- ting very hungry, an(l an idea of dinner arose pleasantly before his mind. I wonder if I could manage to scramble down that declivity, he said to himself. I will try, at all events. So sayin~, he attempted with all due precaution to descend the steep side of the mountain, and for a few mh~utes he got alone admirably. But at last he stepped upon a moss-covered stone, and his foot slipped; lie caught at the trailing tendrils of a wild vine to recovcr himself, but the plant was up- rooted by the sudden strain and he fell. He was conscious of plunging down the descent, of seeing a great bowlder, loosened from its place by the uprooting of the vine, come rolling ~ioxvn toward him; then came a shock, a thrill of in- tensest agony, and then darkness closed around him and he knew no more. He awoke to consciousness at last, a dim and clouded sort of consciousness, broken by throbs of rending pain; yet he hecame aware of the fact that he was lying on a bed, and that a gray-haired man was bending over him and causing him exceeding suffering by endeavoring to ascert in the extent of his injaries. His first ejaculation was met by a look of pleased surprise. Ah, conscious! said the gray-haired individual, half to himself. Then the brain is nothere, Charlottethe sponge and etherquick! And the next moment a sponge was held to his mouth, and the sweet, half- suffocating atmosphere of etLier filled his lungs and stole his senses away in a delicious dream, of which the first phase seemed to be a vision of a lovely girl, tall, slender, graceful, and blue-eyed, who bent upon him a look of womanly pity and sympathy. When he again came to himself it was night. Tie glanced around him, conscious that any motion would be almost impossible, so bruised and stiff~ nd sore did he feel in every part of his body. He was conscious, too, of a dull pain in his side, and that his left arm lay helplessly across his chest, bound up in splints and suspcnded around his neck by a sling. Tie was lying upon a low bed in a room of no great dimensions, furnished as simply as possible, yet with a pervading air of neatness and freshness that was very attractive. The window was open, and throu~h it he could catch a glimpse of the mountain wall beyond, rising blank and d~uk into the night, and but feebly illumined by the rays of the full moon. Beside this window a small table was placed, on which burned a shaded lamp. A woman sat near this tablenot the slender, graceful, youthful being, of whom he had before obtained a fleeting glimpse, but a gray-haired, bony, sallow-complexioned female, seemingly between fifty and sixty years of age, and clad in a black gown of the plainest p ttern and scantiest cut. She wore a white cap, a white apron, and a full muslin kerchief pinned over her shoulders and brought down to a point at her waist; a prim, monastic sort of a figure, lean, angular, and severe of outline. 1872.] A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 9 The slight movement made by the sufferer attracted her attention. She rose, took a cup and spoon from the table, and caine towards the bed. The doctor said you was to take this, sir, whenever you conic to. Stanley submitted meekly to the administration of a teaspoonful of bittcr liquid, which he recognized by the peculiar flavor to be a solution of morphia. He then asked: Where am I? Am I much hurt? The doctor said as how you was not to talk, ~ Just answer me those two questions and I will be as silent as you please. In whose house am I, and in what place? This is Dr. Severnes house, and this place is a little village called Jex, about four miles from Chamouni.. Four miles! why, I walked further than that, surely. Not if you had come straight, sir; but you came a-twisting round on those nasty mountain roads as is not fit for a Christian cow to travel, let alone hen tIe folks. And youre not much hurt, so to speakan arm broke, sir, and two ribs, and a lot of bruises, so I heard the doctor say, but nothing that will kill youwhich is a mercy, considering the uncertainties of them mountains. By this time Miles had got sufficiently aroused to wonder at the circuu~ stance of his finding an English family domiciled in that out-of-the-way little place; for by the speech as well as by the information imparted to him by the gray female, he was evidently not under the roof of a Swiss. Dr. Severne is an Englishman, is he not? he ~sked. Yes, sir; but you~re not to talk. And the gaunt woman settled herself back in her chair in a way that promised obstinate taciturnity on her part, whatever further remarks the patient might feel called upon to make. But Miles did not feel like talkinox The morphia was beginning to take eflk~ct, and pain and curiosity alike were fading away in a dream of perfect peace and rest, a sort of half-conscious slumber which soon deepened into licavy. sleep. When he again awoke it was broad daylight, and his solemn-looking attend- ant had disappeared. But in the place she had occupied by the window sat a tall gray-haired man, who rose and came towards the bed at the first move- ment xVhich Miles made. He was a refined, fragile-looking man, with a plea- sant face and keen sparkling eyes; but his emaciated form, sallow coniplexion, and above all, the expression of patient suffering imprinted on his features, told of conti~iuous pain and habitual ill health. Well, my friend, he said in a cheerful tone and with a stron~ English accent, how do you feel to-day after your tumble? It is really a miracle that you were not killed, or at least,maimed for life. You are Dr. Severne, I presume? Let me introduce myself at once. I am Miles Stanley of New York, and There! that will do, interrupted the doctor. You must talk as little as possible for the present. In a week or two~you can chatter as much as you please, but now I must enjoin perfect quiet. I am not quite easy as to the effect those broken ribs of yours may have had upon the lungs. But how did I get here, doctor? Oh, I can satisfy your curiosity on that point. You were found by some peasants in a meadow just at the foot of the mountain, on a marshy, mossy piece of ground, whose softness probably saved your life. There you were discov- ered late last evening, and as I am the only doctor in Jex, you were brought at once to my house. I suppose you tumbled down the mountain; at hea~t 10 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. [JULY, your condition indicated as much. But the broken bones are all set, your head seems to have escaped any serious injury, and if you are only patient and quiet you will be all right in a few weeks. Now I will leave you for a ~rhile and will send you up some breakfast, after which we will ~ee to those wounds of yours. Thus began for Miles Stanley a period when pain aid fever took possession of his existence and blotted out all thought and feeling, all knowledge of the present or hope for the future, and left only distorted memories of the past. CHAPTER II. LETTER I. From Miles Stanley, Esq., to Mrs. James Courtlandt, Fifth Avenue, New York city. JEX, March 18, 18. Mv DEAR SISTER: This is the first time that I have been permitted, after so many weary months, to seat myself at a writing-table arid use my pen with unrestricted freedom. My previous communications must have been rather unsatisfactory, as they were necessarily brief and possibly incoherent; but they did their part if they allayed your sisterly anxiety as to my welfare; and now, for the first time, I feel able to comply with your oft repeated request, that I would tell you all about it. All about my accidentyou already knowthat is, as much as I know my- self, for I shrewdly suspect, from the protracted nature of my sufferings and the great care exercised towards me by Dr. Severne, that my internal injuries were far more severe than I at first supposed, or than Dr. Severne was willing to confess, if indeed he knew more than I did. But time and care, good medi- cal attendance, and faithful nursing, aided by a good constitution, have worked wonders for me, and my shattered framework seems now to be spliced and glued together in a very satisfactory manner, thou~h some parts of it prove to be still stiff and creaky whenever I attempt to set theni in motion. So much for myself; now for my surroundings. As I believe I told you in one of my short notes, the household coniprises three personsDr. Severne, his daughter Charlotte, and an elderly female .servant, by name Martha Kage. The doctor himself is a very remarkable persona~e, highly. intellectual, won- derfully well educated, and with a keen insight into all matters, whether con- nected with his profession or not, which is truly remarkable. How such a R man ever chanced to bury himself in this miserable little Swiss village is more than I can imagine. He would adorn any circle, would make his mark in any ~ommunity. I fancy that grief for the death of his wife has had somethin~ to do with his seclusion from the world; at least so I infer from something old Mar- tha said to me one day. He never mentions his wife, and has a morbid shrink- ing from all contact with the worlda feeling which is probably aggravated by his state of health, for he is undoubtedly a prey to some painful and incurable malady, which he bears with stoical fortitude and Christian patience. lie has lived in Jex, so he told me, for nearly twelve years, employing himself in ~ractising his profession among the neighboring villages, and in writin~ a treatise on internal cancers, which last work is nearly finished; and, with the exception of an occasional visit to Geneva for the purpose of renewing his stock of medicines, he has never quitted this valley. He is English by birth, has friends and correspondents among the leading practitioners in London, and as far as his profession goes he still keeps up with the progress of ideas in the busy 11 1872.] A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. world of civilized life. In person he is tall and spare; his features are fine, though sharpened by sickness and saddened by pain; his eyes are clear, bri~lit, and piercing; his hair, which is still abundant, is of a ~ilver gray; and sundry wrinkles are visible around his mouth, yet I fancy he cannot be much over fifty years of age. Care, not years, has blanched his locks; pain, not age, has bowed his form and traced lines upon his countenance. I described the old servant, Martha Ka0e, in one of the first letters which I wrote to you. She is an oddity, and she puzzles me more and more daily. She is devoted to Dr. Severne, and she idolizes his daughter, for whom she seems to feel an affection half maternal, half canine, if I may use so odd a mix- ture of terms, They seem to confide in her entirely, and yet she has one grave defectshe is dishonest. I cannot imagine how such a vice could exist in com- pany with such fidelity, such devotion, such perfect trustworthiness in every other respect; and yet that it does exist I have ample proof. Sundry articles have from time to time mysteriously disappeared from the rooma gold pen- cil, a pair of sleeve buttons, a seal, and a string of amethyst beads which I had purchased.for you, being among the most importantall trifling, it is true, yet sufficient to cause me considerable annoyance. Yesterday, havin~ again missed some little article, I resolved to speak to Martha privately about it; for, as she is the only person besides the doctor and Miss Severne who has ever had access to my room, my suspicions bad but a narrow circle in which to travel. So yesterday, when she came to remove the breakfast tray, I said to her: Martha, will you take a seat P I have somethiug which I wish to speak to you about in private. She sat down at once, and crossed her bands in her lap, looking like the very incarnation of primness and respectability. Could she, this staid, quiet woman, be a thief? My resolution was almost shaken, but I thought of the pencil case (your gift) and the sleeve buttons which had once belonged to my father, and so nervin~ myself for the task, Ii went boldly on: Martha, I fear that during my illness some one has been meddling with my things. Only to put them to rights, sir. I folded up your blue waistcoat myself, and as to your shirts I mean my jewelrymy sleeve buttons, studs, etc. I fear that some of them have been mislaid. Oh no, sir, impossible! Do you miss anything? Yes, I do; several articles. She sighed deeply, but neither changed color nor in any othe~r way betr~ yed agitation or alarm. On the contrary, she rose very quietly, went to the table, and brought me a pencil and a bit of paper. Please make out a list of the missing thin~s, sir, she said, and m~ ybe I can find them for you. I took the pencil, utterly dumbfounded by her eoolness, and half persuaded that I had made a mistake, and tW t the trinkets were still in my own posses- sion. Instead of embarrassing or abashing her, it was II who felt half guilty and unpleasantly conscious of wrong-doing. I wrote off a list of the lost valu- ables and handed it to her. She received it with an odd, old-fashioned little curtsey, which is one of her usual forms of salutation or adieu. Another time, sir, please tell me at once when you miss anything. And she walked out of the room as stiff and dionified as ever. This morn- ing every article comprised in my list lay spread out on my dressing-table, having apparently been brought there by stealth during the night. My sleep, 12 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. [JULY, under the influence of the opiates which the doctor freely administers to me, has of late been very heavy, so that it has been an easy matter for any one to enter my apartment during my slumbers, whether by day or night, for I have necessarily slept much during the day. But ~ mean to discontinue the use of narcotics now that I am so near perfect recovery, and henceforth it will be no such easy matter to abstract or to replace my belongings. I have left the most interesting personage in our little society to the lastI mean, of course, Dr. Severnes daughter and only child. Charlotte Severne is just nineteen. She has been educated by her father with the greatest care, and though since she was seven years old she has lived in the utter seclusion of this lonely, out-of-the-way little, village, her manners are as graceful and refined as thou~h she had been moulded in the most fashionable of educational ateliers. Of course she needs something of the polish which intercourse with the world tan alone impart, but she is so sweet, so simple, so fresh, so unspoiled, that one hesitates to run the risk of destroying so much that is charming, to gain at best but a doubtful improvement. And then she is so beautiful! An English beauty is a rctra avis, but when once found she is certainly a marvel; and Char- lotte Severne, while possessing the dazzling complexion, bright, fair hair, and blue eyes of her countrywomen, has escaped the infliction of the long, high nose, the ponderous feet, and general clumsiness of form which are the usual defects of English woni en. heaven defend me from the ordinary type of the British femalesuch a creature as I sketched for you just before I started from Chamouni on my ill-starred pedestrian tour. .A TVee1i~ Later.This letter has been lying unfinished in my portfolio for so long that I think now I will make it a sort of journal, and only send it when it has attained unwieldy dimensions. Since I last laid down my pen several new and startling events have occurred. In the first place, old Martha has been again seized with a taste for abstracting my valuables. A very pretty scarf pin whi6h I had purchased for myself when in Geneva, the design being an ea- gles foot in gold, holding in its talons a large pearl, disappeared from my room, and in 4ccordance with Mrs. Kages request, I mentioned the fact to her privately. She did not receive my very quiet intimation of my knowledge of the theft with the perfect composure which characterized her manner during our previous interview. On the contrary, she seemed quite agitated: she hesi- tated, stammered, and finally retreated from the room, wiping a furtive tear from her eyes with a corner of her apron. That same night I was aroused by a stealthy footstep in my room. I have relinquished the use of narcotics, and consequently a~n easily awakened; so the first sound of a tread upon my bed- room floor startled me into sudden consciousness. I lay perfectly still, how- ever, and by the starli~ht could distinguish the dim outlines of a female form, which paused a moment at my dressing-table, and then passed swiftly and softly from the room. I rose at once, struck a light, and found my ea~les-claw pin reposing in its usual place on my pincushion, while on the floor lay, mute evidence of the identity of my midnight visitor, one of the stiff little bows of black ribbon which are the only decorations in which Mrs. Kage ever indul- ges. I thought, of course, that she was cured of her taste for pilferin~. but not at all; two of my cravats went next, and the same process of complaint on my part and restitution on hers had to be gone through with, greatly to my an- noyance and to her evident discomfiture. But enough of this rather unpleasant subject. I only write of it to gain courage for another announcement about which I feel as timid as any young maiden, blushing out the first story of her love upon her mothers bosom. Yet 1872.] A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 13 why should I hesitate? Have not you yourself, my dear sister, in common with hundreds of my particular friends, exhortcd me time after time to marry? 1-Jave you not often said that I was of all men the one best fitted for domestic life, and that my large fortune could not be better employed than in creating a charming homewhich, of course, would need an equally charming mistress? Well, then, prepare to hear that I have followed your advice, and make ready to take a fair young sister to your heart, nay, to your heart of hearts. I have asked Charlotte Severne to become my wife, and she has consented. There now, my tale is told, and all I regret is, that I shall not be present to witness your astonislunent when you first peruse this portion of my volunii- nous epistle. I write gavlv, it is true, and yet surely there have seldom been seen be- trothals over which brooded a deeper cloud of sadness than over mine. But I will go back and begin regularly at the very beginning of my story. For some days past I had noticed that a change, and that for the worse, had taken place in Dr. Severnes condition. He refused to touch food and seemed to suffer acutely, and thou~h he refused to go to bed, or even to remain in his own room, it was evident that it was only by the exercise of a most determined will that he kept about at all. I, absorbed in my first self-consciousness of my love for Charlotte, failed to perceive that anything more than a passin~ indis- position was wei~hing upon him ; and Charlotte, happy in the unsuspicious ob- tuseness of youth and inexperience, was equally blind. But old Martha was visibly uneasy, and followed hini like his shadow. One evening lie retired to his little study and shut himself up there, as if to read or to write; but that was so frequently his habit that his quitting us ex- cited no uneasiness in my mind. On the contrary, I was rather glad of his withdrawal than otherwise. It would give me a chance of seeing him alone; for I had become anxious to learn my fate from Charlottes own lips, yet I was too much a man of honor to confess my love to her, and win possibly an avowal of her own in return, without first obtaining her father s sanction to my addresses. I rou~ht his presence therefore before he had been long absent from the sitting-room. My first tap on the library door was answered by a faint Come in, and I entered. Dr. Severne wa~ not at his usual post at the writing-table. He lay extended on a low lounge which formed part of the furniture of his little sanctum, and his features were drawn and ghastly with pain. You are ill, doctor! I cried, fore etting my errand in dismay at his evi- dent sufferings. Let me call for assistance. No, no! exclaimed the doctor, half rising and extendii~g one hand toward me to check my movements. I can aid myself better than others can aid me, or at least as well. Sit down and tell me what you want With mc. Never heed my sufferings; they will soon be over. I took the seat to which he pointed, and we were silent for some moments. Dr. Severne lay with one hand shading his face so that I could not see the ex- pression of his features, and when he again spoke it was in his usual tone. ~CWel1, my young friend, what is it that you wish to say to me? I suppose that you will soon leave us, for your health and strength seem to be perfectly restored. Thereupon the pent-up lava floods of my passionate speech burst forth, and I painted in glowing colors my love for Charlotte, my hopes that it was re- turned, my brilliant prospects, and the bright future which my affection would shape for her from my wealth. And then I eagerly implored him to let me 14 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. [JULY, at once declare my passion to her and sue for her heart in exchange for mine. I paused at last, and a dead silence ensueda silence which was broken after some minutes by Dr. Severne. I feared as much! was his muttered ejaculation. Feared P I exclaimed, hurt and half angry. Stay, he said, still in that same low tone and without removing his hand from his eyes. Have you never heard, Stanley, of men whom the fiend tempted on their deathbecls? Even so am I now tempted. What can you mean P I cried in amazement. Stanley, I am dyin~ My heart sank as it confessed the truth of his words. For I had become much attached to Dr. Severne, and even my inexperience could not be de- ceived in the change which had passed over the features of my friend. The face that looked up at me from the cushions of the lounge bore the dread and unmistakable imprint of death. I have suffered for years from the ravages of an internal cancer. What I have suffered no human being besides myself has ever known; but my agony is nearly over. The foundations of the house of life have been slowly gnawed away, and in a few hours more the edifice will crumble into ruins; and I should hail death as a blessed release if it were not for Charlotte. How can I leave her alone in this pitiless world? Not aloneleave her with me. Give me but the right to woo and win her, Dr. Severne, and I promise He interrupted me with a groan of mingled agony and impatience. Temptertempter! he moaned, shifting himself uneasily on his cush- ions, you know not what you doyou know not what you ask! I ask for the happiness of my future life. Let me but win Charlotte He interrupted me with a quick, impatient exclamation. Go! Win her if you willwin her if you can. I can struggle against fate no lone er. But listen to me. If she refuses to hearken to your suit, come to me yourself to announce your failure; if, on the contrary, she loves you, send her to me at once. In that case I would speak with her alone. I spare you, dear sister, the details of the brief agitated interview between Charlotte and myself that ensued. You know already how I sped with my suit. Suffice it to say that Charlotte, looking lovelier than ever by reason of her blushes, her smiles, her naive embarrassment, confessed that I was~not in- different to her, and that she thought she could be very happy as my wife. Then followed a long, and, I think, a distressin ~ conference with her dy- ing father. They wem e alone together for more than an hour, not even old Martha bein~ admitted; and when Charlotte came out of the room she had evi- ) dently been weeping. Dr. Severne then sent for me. I found him looking somewhat better, and the strange pun~,ent odor of drugs which filled the room betrayed the fact that he had resorted to some powerful medicine for the pur- pose of regaining sufficient strength to enable him to bear the emotions and anxieties which weighed so heavily upon his soul. So Charlotte loves you, was his greeting as I entered. Well, I consent to your marria~e on two conditions. One is, that your union shall take place immediately. I have but a few days to live, and I would like to witness the ceremony which consigns my only child to the care of one who will guide and guard her even as I would have done. For this you will do, will you not, Stanley? 1872.] A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 15 That will I promise, and I gladly accede to your proposition of an imme- diate marriage. Secondly, you must retain Martha Kage in your service as personal and confidential attendant on Charlotte, and you must never separate her from your wife, even for a day. I hesitated at this. What! should I promise to bring a woman of such dishonest habits into my future home, and that, too, as the inseparable com- panion of my wife? My soul revolted at the idea. Dr. Severne, I said after a short, embarrassed pause, do you knoware you aware that Mrs. Kage is not strictly honest? Choose! I cannot, will not consent to your marriage on any other ~rms. But hear me. No, no; on this point I am firm. Take Charlotte for your wife with Mar- tha Ka~e as her attendant, or leave me at once and prepare to depart from my house. I am too ill for argument or expostulation. I have spoken. Now do as you will. And I consented to everything. What man in love would not have done the same? Arid after all, I am acquainted with Marthas failing and can be on my guard. here I must close. My next letter will tell you of our marriage. Dear sister, wish me well. My heart fails me, I know not why. A presentiment of evil weighs upon my spirits. Love and Death, the bridal and the funeral, have linked hands so strangely at this moment that the gloom of the one over- shadows the glories of the other. I smell the mould above the rose. Char- lottes bridal wreath will be laid from her brow to wither on the coffin of her father, and she will lay aside her bridal attire only to assume the black gar- ments of a mourner. And so for the present farewell. I will write again as soon as possible after I am married, and believe me, whether married or single, ever your de voted brother, MILES STANLEY. ChAPTER III. LETTER II. GENEYA, April , Mv DEAR SISTER: I was unable, as you may see by the above date, to fulfil my promise of writing to you as soon as the marriage ceremony had been performed. Events have so crowded upon each other, and I have found myself placed so suddenly and unexpectedly in a position of responsibility, that I have been compelled to neglect all minor duties in attending to the pressing demands of the hour. Charlotte is my wife and she is an orphan. Our sad, simple wedding took place the day after I last wrote to you; not such a wedding as you used to pic- ture forme, with a lighted church and exquisite music, a throng of spectators, a crowd of bridesmaids, and a bride all blushes, Brussels lace, and orange blos- soms. We were married in Dr. Severnes sick-room, and by the side of the bed which was so soon to be his deathbed. Charlottes dress was an old-fash- ioned pearl gray silk which had belonged to her mother, and her only ornaments were her own loveliness and a handful of early Alpine blossoms which I had sallied out early in tire morning to procure for her. But with these twisted in her shining hair, and with her dainty complexion, perfectly dazzling in its com- bination of snow and roses, she needed no further ornament to render her per- 16 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. CJrJLY, feetly beautiful. What a sensation she will create in New York society next winter! iDr. Severne witnessed the ceremony, propped up by pillows, and when it was ended he summoned Charlotte by a sign to come near him. She did so, and he threw around her neck a slender gold chain to which was attached a locket. This is my wedding gift, Charlotte, he said. Then, casting on her a penetrating and significant look, he added in a solemn tone, Remember! Her answer was inaudible, if indeed she made any, for his look and words seemed to destroy the composure which she had up to that moment maintained, though with difficulty; and throwing herself into my arms she burst into a passion of tears, and I led her weeping from the room. I tried to distract her thou~hts by asking her to show me her fathers gift; but though she allowed me to inspect it, she did so with evident reluctance, and would hardly even per- mit me to touch the locket. It is a handsome and artistic thou~h an odd-look- ing trinket, being fashioned in the shape of an ancient amphora. We all thonght that Dr. Severne would die that night, but he rallied be- fore the followin~, morning and lived nearly two days longer. His sufferings mnst have been intense, but through all his agony his iron will and irnperturb able patience never lost their sway. He retained his senses perfectly to the last, and gave me full and minute directions as to the whereabouts of his papers and the disposition of his property. But over the closing scenes I will draw a veil. Some themes are too painful to be dwelt upon, and silence befits them best. Why should I describe the last moments of my friend, the distress of Charlotte, the silent, speechless grief of old Martha, who seemed almost heart- broken when she learned that all was over, and that her beloved master was no longer of this world? I started for Geneva as soon as possible after the funeral, as I wished to remove Charlotte froni scenes that could only intensify her sorrow, to others whose brightness and novelty might have a cheering influence upon her. My plan succee(led ~idmirably; for Geneva, to a girl who since her childhood bad never known anything beyond the limits of one of the smallest of Swiss villages, is a city of vast extent and inexhaustible charms. The quiet little Calvinistic town is to her a paradise of unending delights. The shops on the Rue du RhOne and the Conaterie teem for her with more than the riches of Aladdins garden of jewels. 11cr n~iive enjoyment is to me a source of never- falling delight, and I eagerly anticipate the moment when the wonders ~f Paris shall be unfolded to her gaze. I must not fail to tell you that Charlotte is far from being a portionless bride. I-Icr fathers estate, the whole of which is bequeathed to her, will amount to something over thirty thousand pounds, and, by a will which he made the day before his death, the estate reverts to me should Charlotte die childless, and should I survive her. Strange that a man possessedi of every qualification and every requisite for enjoying lifer should have buried himself for so many years in that dreary village! I expect to receive your congratulations in due form in answer to this. Wflat has become of my gloomy thoughts and sad forebodings, you will ask? Gone! vanished to the four winds, dispersed by the sunshine of Charlottes smiles. Even Martha Kage appears to me now in the light of a blessing, thon~h she persists in followin~ Charlotte about wherever she goes, even ac corupanying her on her shopping excursions and keeping me in a perpetual fever for fear that the innumerable temptations around her may prove some day too much for her itching fingers to witllstan(l. 1872.3 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 17 We start on an excursion to Chamouni in a week or two, and I will write you again on my return. Charlotte sends you her love. I wish you could see how pretty she looks at this moment, seated by the window with the sunlighi gleaming on the golden masses of her shining hair. Adieu, and believe me ever yours affectionately, MILES STANLEY. LETTER III. From Mrs. Van Rensselaer Vaux to her cousin Mrs. James Courtlandt. HOTEL METROPOLE, GENEVA, June 29, 187. Mv DEAR HARRIET: The ralroad journey from Paris to Geneva is really dreadful. I arrived here some days ago, choked with dust, gasping with heat, and very insiifiiciently refreshed by the cup of very bad cafe ceu lait, which was the only thing we could touch at the ill-supplied buffet at Macon. But a bath, a good breakfast, and, above all, a sight of that exquisite sheet of sapphire and silver called the Lake of Geneva, did me a world of good, and to-day I mean to begin an epistle to you. Only to be~in it, however, for I mean to make a sort of journal of it, and will not send it to you till I leave Geneva for our next stopping-place. I hope I shall be able to find something interesting to relate to you, but Geneva is a stupid little town at best, as I know by past experience, and I can hardly hope to have any very stirring or thrilling events to narrate. Greatly to my surprise, I found Miles and his bride still here. They have been detained so long by matters connected with the estate of the deceased Dr. Severne, and growing out of sundry vexatious formalities of Swiss law, that Miles talks of spending the whole of the summer in Switzerland, and of re- maining another year at least abroad. But their plans are as yet quite undeci- ded, and beyond the fact that they intend to stay at Geneva till after the Fourth of July ffte, which is to be given at the HOtel MOtropole this year, and promises to be quite a mannificent afihir, they have resolved upon none of their future movements. I do not wonder that they are willing to remain here. They have the finest snite of rooms in4he hotel, and Mrs. Stanley is universally admired. You will, I know, wish to learn my opinion respectin~ our new relations and I will give it with all the frankness which our long intimacy and sisterly attachment might warrant. Frankly, then, I am sadly disappointed in her; not in her beauty, for it would be impossible to be disappointed in that, but in her intellectual and moral qualities. She is simply a lovely doll, a sort of delicate- ly-tinted, beautifully-moulded waxen imane, with a head stuffed with sawdust, and ~no heart at all to speak of. She does not care for books, or music, or pic- tures, never reads even the most frivolous novel or trashiest poem, and is per- fectly wild on the subject of dress. She will talk ehiffous by the hour if any one will condescend to listen to her, and her fathers death evidently weighs less upon her soul than does her prolonged exile from the glories of Paris glories which for her are not hidden within the walls of the Louvre or the Grand Opera, but beam forth only from behind the plate-glass windows of the fashionable shops. She is, of course, still in mourning, if mourning it m~ y be calleda dress blazing with jet and heavy with embroidery, a showy jet coro- net, and a set of diamonds, coniposing her toilet, whicb, however, shows off rier bright blonde beauty to wonderful advantage. I hope when she does put on colors that she will continue to dress elegantly and with taste, but I doubt it. for is she not an Englishwoman? I am morally certain that, had Miss Severne been a plain, or even only n moderately pretty girl, Miles would never have given her a second look oi thought; but I suppose that her personal attractions, joined to the peculiar cir 18 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. [JULY, cumstances under which they met, proved irresistible. Miles was too shy and reserved ever to have gone a-wooing in the usual fashion, I suppose. He is very much in love now, and is seemingly blind to all his wifes foolishness and selfishness; but will he remain so when a- ponderous British matron replaces the golden-haired Venus he now adores? Such a transformation is certain to L ke place some day. After all, there is a germ of sound truth in the old po- etic legend of Tannhkuser. The man who blindly worships mere physical beauty is apt to find himself enthralled by an enchantment as potent, but also as evanescei~t, as were the spells which chained Tannhiiuser within ti-ic Venus- berg, and woe to him when the charm loses its power and he beholds his god- dess in her true shape. But I ~m beginning to moralize and to grow didactictwo decided faults in a letterso I will lay down my pen for to-day. Two Days Later.I have, my dcar.Harrict, made a new discovery respect- ing our lovely relative, Mrs. Miles Stanley. She is a thorough flirt, and being r as yet a novice in the art, she flirts in an open and shameless fashion, which is sure to make her the talk of every American community in which si-ic may happen to find herself. Verily, Miles has bestowed upon our family a sweet boon in the shape of this addition to it. I suppose that time hanos heavy on her hands, and she strives to while away a fcw of the lagging hours by i ndulg- ing in this very disreputable I)astime. Flirting is bad enough for a married woman even when indulged- in in America, where it is rather the fashion, and where the men are usually imbued with some small respect. for the- sanctity of womanhood; but in Europe it is playing with fire with a vengeance. And to flirt with a Frenchman of all nationalities in the world! But I must confess that the Amintor of this Swiss pastoral is a very handsome and fascinating per- sonage, by name and title the Baron Armand de Bminaud, a soldier by profes- sion, he being a colonel in some one of the innumerable regiments of the French army, and a scamp by nature, if one may trust to the mute evidence of his pallid, unhealthy-looking complexion and heavy eyes. Mrs. Stanley and he had a lovely time last evening in the Jardin Anglais, whispering togetlier under the shade of a large tree where the moonbeams could scarcely penetrate. I came upon them quite by accident, having gone there with Mr. Vauix for a stroll, and to let I-larry take a look at the lake before I sent him - to bed. You would hardly know your godson now, I think, he has grown so much and is so stout and strong. But to go back to Charlotte Stanley. It is my firm belief that she does not care one atom for Miles, and that she only married him be- - cause he was wealthy and could remove her from that horrid little village, which, from her accounts, m-ust have been a very dungeon for dreariness and seclusion. I do not think if she had known the amount of her fathers property before his death that she would h~ve accepted Miles. It is a bad business for him, this marriage, in every respect; of that I am more and more convinced every hour that I pass in the company of his wife. It is fortunate that Miles is not of a jealous temperament, or there would be some- fearful quarrels be- txveen th~m; for Charlotte is as obstinate and self-willed as silly women usually ar~e, and is too much intoxicated with the homage paid to her beauty to bear any reproof or faultfinding with patience. I hope that things may mend, how- ever. A little intercourse with the world may teach her much and eradicate ninny of the false notions with which her brain is now filled. She may learn to prize that best blessing which Heaven ever bestows upon a womans life, namely, a really good husband, and such Miles is certain to bedear, patient, warm-hearted Miles! But at present I can hardly bear to look at her she so 1872.] A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 19 puts me out of patience with her silliness, her vanity, and her foolishly impru- dent conduct. I am glad to see that she has some one, though that some one be only a servant, to watch over her and look after ber proceedings. Her old attcnd:uit (ladys maid, nurse, or what is she?) Martha Kage folloxvs her about wherever she goes, and seems to mark her every look and movement. But ii must stop for a while, for I have to dress for an expedition which has been planned for this morning. A party including Miles and his wife, M. de Br6naud, a pretty French widow, Madame de Vi~nard (who by-the-by is des- perately in love with the Baron, and proportionately jealous of Charlotte Stan- ley), and some three or four others, has been formed to go to see some wonder- ful ornaments which Vardier, the celebrated jeweller here, has just finished. They were ordered by the Marquis of Melfort, and are not to be seen by ple- beian eyes without a permit, or ticket, or some such formality. I will write you a description of them to-morrow, and will then close this journalistic epistle, which is growing somewhat long. But Miles advised me to write to you after this fashion; so blame him, not me, if you grow tired of my diary. I-low little did I think, when I laid down my pen yesterday, under what circumstances and to impart what tidings I should resume it. Prepare your- self, Uear 1-larriet, for news that will at once astonish and distress you. Miles is well, I must hasten to add, and it is at his command that I have sat down to write to you. We st~rted for the jewellers in high spirits. There were eight or ten of us altogether, including Miles and his wife, M. de Br6naud and Madame de Vignard, and Mr. Vaux and myself; the others were strangers, guests at the hotel who bad obtained permission to join our party. Martha Kage begged bard to be allowed to accompany us, but Miles would not hear of it, and on her persisting in her request, he really got quite angry and said something sharply to her, though in a low tone, which silenced her at once, and she re- treated to Mrs. Stanleys sitting-room, sighing heavily as she went. I was so much moved at her evident distress, that I ventured to intercede for her with Miles, and to beg that she might be permitted to come with us. Cousin Bessie, he said very gravely, what you ask is impossible. The jewels we are about to see are of immense value, and Martha Kage He stopped short. It is impossible, he repeated, and tuifted abruptly and left me. I said no more of course, and as the carria~ eS were already at the door, I thought no more of the matter. When we arrived at Vardiers we were shown up stairs into a small room whose grated windows and iron door betrayed unusual care against the possi- bility of theft. The ornaments which we had come to see were spread out on a srhall table covered with black velvet, and were really of regal size and mar- vellous beauty. M. Vardier and his partner displayed them to us and ex- plained the peculiar fineness or charm of each gem and pearl. Some day I may write you a description of them, but not now. After we had sated our eyes and satisfied our curiosity by inspecting the Melfort jewels, some lesser marvels were produced for our delectation, some not beyond the limits of a republican purse, and most of our party made several purchases. In the midst of the confusion of voices pricing, exclaiming, de- ciding, ~or admiring, M. Vardier came to me with a small velvet-lined case in his hand. I wish, madame, to~ show you a very fine work of art, he said. He opened the case and took from it a small exquisitely-painted miniature set in a 20 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. CJULY, wreath of leaves formed of small di ir~onds, and with three fine pear-shaped pearls depending from the lower part of the wreath, the Whole forming a pen- dant to be worn suspended round the neck by a chain, like those rich ornaments which one sees represented in the Holbein portraits on the throats of the beau- ties of Henry YIII.s court. The setting is handsome, but the miniature is, I believe, of almost fabu- ions value, continued M. Vardier. It was painted by Oliver, the celebratcd English court miniature painter of the days of Charles II., and is considered one of his very finest works. It was a beautiful thing, a face not unlike that of Nell Gwynne, with lnu6ii- ing eyes, petite features, and a mass of loose fair rind lets, all of which, as well as the sky-blue velvet and the point lace and pearls of thc dress, were most delicately and exquisitely represented. I admired the picture and tim setting to the full as much as M. Va~dicr had evidently expected I would, and then I inquired the price of the pendant. It is not mine to dispose of, he said, smiling. It was a freak of an English lady of rank to have one of the gems of her gallery thus mounted as a personal ornament, and I shall be glad to get it out of my hands. It is to be sent home to-morrow. He moved off to exhibit the miniature to another member of our party,and 1 turned away and busied myself with the selection of a pair of earrings for Lily. Some little time elapsed before all of u,~ had got through with tim work of examining, admiring, and purchasing. At last every one was pronounced ready. Gloves, parasols, and canes were sought for, and the whole party pie- pared to leave. Just then one of M. Vardiers partners came up and whis- pered something to him, and then at a si~n from him passed forward and locked the iron-lined door, instantly withdrawing the key. We were prison- ers. M. Vardier then addressed us in a tone and manner that betrayed cx- cessive emotion. Ladies and gentle men, be said, addressing the whole party as we stood, a bewildered and indignant group, before the closed door, I ask your par- don for this apparent rudeness on my part. But interests not my own are at stake, and I cannot hesitate as to the course I should pursue. As to myself, something more than the mere pecuniary value of a lost trinket is in question nothing less than my personal reputation and the honor of my house. I can scarcely bring myself to explain my meaning, but it must be done. An orna- ment of great value and unique character, the property of an individual who placed it in my hands, confiding in my honor and my vi6ilance, has disappeared from this room. A cry, either of amazement or indignation, burst from every lip. M. Var- dier merely waved his hand deprecatingly and continued: The ornament in question is the Holbein pendant, which was so much admired by some members of this party a few minutes ago. After showing it to two or three I laid it on the4able, my attention bein~ e~ iled to something else. The pendant has disappeared. My partners and myself have sought for it in every part of this room, but in vain. You miserable tradesman, burst forth the Baron de Brinaud, dare you insinuate______ Wait! whispered Madame de Vignard, touching him lightly on the shoulder. I-live pat once, mon cher Baron; all will be speedily explained. There was a gleam of triumph in her fierce black eyes which I could not un- derstand. Then Miles spoke: 1872.] A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. Search every person here if you wish, M. Vardier, he said, coming for- ward. Begin with me if you will. But I think if you look further you wili find your trinket without intlictino such humiliation on auy one of us. M. Vardier shook his head. The room is small and it has been thor- oughly examined. Just then I happened to glance at Charlotte, and her extreme paleness struck me with amazement. She was trying to ed~e hersclf out of. the circle in which we stood, but Miles drew her arm within his. Dont fid~et so, Lotta, he said kindly. This affair is annoying, but we must make up our minds to submit to annoyances sometimes. There was a short pause; then M. Vardier spoke again: One of my partners shall go for my sister, and she will examine the pock- ets of the ladies, but the search must take place. And what if we will not submit to such an insult? sneered M. de Br& naud. Then I will summon the police and call upon the law to aid me in recover- ing the missing jewel. For Heavens sake get this thing over! exclaimed Mr. Vaux, who, with his usual phlegm, had been silent till that moment. Search us all and let us get back to the hotel is quickly as possible.~ Madame de Vignard here came forward with a strange sort of smile carving her thin lips. Why should we all be exposed to such humiliation? she said. Surely the guilty party alone should suffer. But who can point out the guilty one? asked M. Vardier. I can. I saw the jewel taken. M. Vardier, the Holbein pendant is at the present moment in the possession of Mrs. Miles Stanley. Liar! slanderer! shouted Miles, utterly beside himself. Oh, if you were only not a woman! A liar am I? A slanderer am I? Then who took my point-lace hand- kerchief from my room two weeks ago? I was lying on the bed asleep (so the thief thought), but I saw herI saw la belle Charlotte hide the h.andkerchief in her bosom. Old Martha brought it back to me and said she had taken it, but. she lied. She lied, but I do not. Ah, Madame ha Voleuse, you have no old woman here to-day to father your sins! I cannot describe to you the horrible exultation, the fierce triumph that rang in the Frenchwomans voice and looked from her flashing eyes. Nor can I describe the scene that ensued. Miles held back by two of M. Vardiers partners, Charlotte cowering on a chair ghastly pale and almost insensible, the entrance of Mlle. Vardier, the death-like silence broken only by the faint rustle of dress and mantle as the Swiss prosecuted her search, then a cry from Char-, lotte, a mingled~ exclamation of horror and astonishment from all present, and there, in Mlle. Vardiers hand, shone the missing trinket! A groan burst from the quivering lips of poor Miles as. released from the grasp of his captors, he sank into a chair and covered his blanched face with his hands. Charlotte seemed trying to recover her composure, and she came slowly forward with a sullen look of defiance in her eyes. My very heart sick- ened as I noticed the perceptible shrinking from her and avoidance manifested by most of the party. Madame de Vignard shrugged her shoulders and whis- pered something to M. de Br~naud, but Charlotte never heeded her. She walked with a quiet, deliberate step up to where the Baron stood, and then 2 22 A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. [JULY, paused, fixing her eyes steadfastly upon him. He bowed slightly, turned from her, and offered his ar~ to Madame de Vignard. The livid pallor crept over Charlottes face again, and I thought she was about to fall on the floor; but at this instant Miles arose and advanced towards her. He drew her arm within his own, the door was thrown open, and we went forth. No one spoke. Even M. Vardier seemed too much oyerwhelmed to offer any excuses (though, poor man, it was not his fault), and the once merry party descended the stairs as si- lent and as grave as a procession of mourners at a funeral. When we reached the door I whispered to Mr. Vaux to go and join De Br~naud, and as Miles placed Charlotte in the carriage I came forward a~d took my seat by her side. I shall never forget Miless look of gratitude. I shall never cease to be thank- ful that I did so. Only once during our drive did Miles speak. Cousin Bessie, he said, to-morrow I return to Jex to live and die there. Fortunately Dr. Seyernes house is not yet sold. At this Charlotte looked up. She had thrown herself back on the carriage and had drawn her veil closely over her face; but these words seemed to arouse her from her stupor. To Jex? Not back to Jex? 0 Miles And where else, he interrupted fiercely, coflld I so well conceal your shame and my dishonor ? She shrank back without another word, and drew her veil over her face again; but I heard her mutter between her teeth: Go back to Jex P Never! We reached the HOtel M~tropo1e at last, and never did so short a drive ap- pear to me so interminable. We went up stairs at once. Marth Kage met us at the door of Miless apartments; and her first glance at the faces of our party seemed to reveal to her what had happened. She clasped her hands to- gether with a wild cry of grief. It has come! she exclaimed, it has come! f I knew it would! 0 my dear mistress, why did you not take me with you? Without answering, or even looking at her, Charlotte passed swiftly through the sitting-room into the bedehamber beyond, and I heard her first lock and then bolt the door. Miles signed to the old woman to enter the parlor, which she did. He closed the door carefully, placed a chair, and motioned her to take a seat in it, and then signed to me to place myself beside him on the sofa. Martha, he said in stern but not unkindly tones, you must answer me a few questions, and that truthfully. No prevarications or evasions will serve you or your mistress now. She has been detected here he paused and seemed almost overcome in an act of dishonesty; and worse than that, she has been charged with other deeds of the same nature for which she permitted you to bear the blame. Is this last accusation true? Did you know anything respecting her weakness or her wickedness, whichever it may be? Without answering, the old woman plunged her hand into the depths of some pocket deep buried among the folds of her garments, and from which she drew forth an old-fashioned, well-worn pocketbook. This she opened, and from one of its compartments she took a folded paper which she handed to Miles. Dr. Severne gave me that two days before he died. Read it, Mr. Stanley, and you will know all about Miss Charlotte. I looked over his shoulder as he read. The document, which was written in a bold, masculine hand, ran as follows: I give this paper to the most faithful and devoted of women, that she may make such use of it as ~he thinks fit, if ever an occasion should arise when it is necessary that the painfnl truth be told. 1872.] A TALE OF TWO LOCKETS. 23 My daughter Charlotte is a kleptomaniac; that is, a being possessed with an irresistible mania for stealing. The curse is a hereditary one; her mother was so afflicted, and it was on that account that I left my native land and passed my days in the little village where I am now dying. Here I have been able to keep the horrible misfortune a secret from all the world. Charlotte manifested this wretched propensity at a ver~~ early age, and hence I have not d~ red to min~le with society even since th~ death of my unhappy wife. I have suffered Charlotte to marry, and in that act I have been weak, it may he even wicked. But I leave her in the hands of my faithful friend and servant Martha Kage, and she has promised to watch over herand to guard her repu- tation at the expense of her own. And should this paper ever come into the hands of my son-in-law (the truth then of course being known), I he~ that he will not curse my memory. DAVID SEVEENE. The wicked old wretch! I cried, as my eyes rested on the concluding words. And so, Martha, said Miles in a tone of stony calmness, it was Char- lotte, not you, who used to purloin my valuables. It was, Mr. Stanley. Did she take a lace handkerchief from Madame de Vignards room the other day? Yes, Mr. Stanley, but I took it back. Miles rose and paced the floor with hurried, uneven steps. I wish to heaven I was dead! he passionately exclaimed. Oh, into what a horrible snare have I not fallen! Leave the room, woman! he cried, turn- ing fiercely to Martha. You and your wicked master have brought me to this. Oh, dupe, fool, miserable victim that I have been! I loved Miss Charlotte like my own child, and I wanted to see her happy, muttered the old woman in feeble remonstrance. Go and aid your mistress to pack up. To-morrow we return to Jex, never to leave it while she and I live. Mrs. Kage went to the bedroom door and tapped, softly at first, then louder, but no one answered. She then left the room without making any further effort to gain admission. Meanwhile Miles had become somewhat calmer. I did not try to console himwords are vain under some circumstances; but I did try to make him think more kindly of his unhappy wife. Miles, I said, remember, after all, that tllis dreadful failing is her curse, not her fault. Try to be gentle with her. She is so young you may cure her of what, after all, is really a maladya mental one it is true, but still a disease and not a crime. The hard-drawn lines of Miless face softened as I spoke. Poor girl! he said with a sigh; after all, her lot is worse than mine. Thank .you, Bessie, for your kind counsel, and if in the dreary years to come a stray sunbeam should chance to brighten my lot, I will not forget your sympathy and your a(ivice. I will be kind to Charlotte, and I will do all that lies within my power to make our lonely home as cheerful for her as possible. Go to her now. Think what a weight of misery and humiliation she has to endure, and do not leave her to bear it alone. Come with me then. She will be cheered and encouraged by your pres- ence. He went to the door and knocked. There was no reply. He tried it, but it wa~ still fast locked and bolted. He motioned to me to speak. A TALE O~? TWO LOCKETS. [JULY. 24 Charlotte! I called; Cousin Charlotte! There was no answer. I put my ear to the keyhole, but all was silence within the bedroom. I could hear the ticking of Charlottes Geneva watch, which she had left on the dressing-table, and that was all. I tried next to look throu~h the keyhole, but could see nothing. Finally I looked up at Miles. She will not answer, I whispered, and I cannot see her. - Charlotte! he shouted; Charlotte! Still no answer. Then with one determined blow he burst the frail door from its fastenings and we entered. I think till I die I shall never forget the aspect of that roomthe trunka and carpet-bags, the dresses that hung on the chairs, the glistening jet orna- ments, the combs and pins and ribbons that were strewed over the dressing- table, the books and the faded bouquets that littered the centre-table, the pat- tern of the paper, the colors and design of the carpet. Charlotte lay upon the bed with her face turned to the wall. She still wore her walking-dress, but her dainty French hat with its trailing black plume had been tossed upon the floor, and near it lay her gloves and parasol. On the bed beside her I s w glistening an odd trinket, a gold vinai~rette, shaped like an antique wine jar or amphora, and suspended to a gold chain. There was a faint scent of bitter alm& nds in the air. Miles ~vent up to the bed and bent over Charlotte. I remember nothing that followed very distinctly. There were screau~s and cries and a great con- fusion, and a hurrying to and fro, for the doors had been gotten open somehow; and then I seemed to wake up out of a lethargy, and I saw a person, who I suppose was a doctor, standing beside tlje bed, and I heard him say Prussic acid; and then all my senses left me, and I knew nothing more till I woke up in my own room, with Vaux hangiiig over me, pale as a ghost, and Harry crying by my side. The doctor said that Charlotte had taken enough of the poison to kill ten men. Miles found a card, with a few words pencilled on it, on the dressing- table. The writing ran as follows: There is poison in the locket my father gave me as a wedding gift. I took a solemn oath to him on his deathbed that I would make use of it if ever I brought disgrace upon you. But I do not think I could have found courage to take it if you had not threatened to take me back to Jex. Good-by. Try to forgive me. I would rather die than go back to Jex. I write this letter at the request of poor Miles, though I am so exhausted by excitement and agitation that I can scarcely hold my pen. The funeral takes place to-morrow. M. de Brinaud and Madame de Vignard have left the house, and it is said that they are engaged to be married. I doubt it, for had it been so she would scarcely have been so furiously jealous of poor Char- lotte. Miles is quite broken-hearted at present, but I trust he will live to con- fess some day that a dead sorrow is better than a living shame. Men do not often die of grief for the loss of their wives, and I should think any man could be speedily consoled for the loss of a wife afflicted with kleptomania. Yet I cannot help but be sorry for poor Charlotte, so young, so beautiful, and with so bright a future before her. And as to her faults, She has cancelled all she has done or said, And gone to the loved and the holy dead: Let us forget the path she trod; ~he has done with usshe is gone to God. LUCY II. HoorEY. MY LIFE ON THE PLAfNS. BEFORE leaving the Platte I employed two additional interpreters who were familiar with the Sioux language. Both were white men, but, following the example of many fr6ntiersmen, they had taken unto themselves Indian wives, and each had become the head of a considerable family of half- breeds. Starting nearly due south from thd Platte, and marching up the cafion, which forms a natural gateway through the otherwise almost impassable barrier of bluffs and deep ravines bordering the valley of the Platte river, we again set out in search of Indians. The latter are sought after so frequently and found so seldom, except when not wanted, that scouting parties, as a general thing, are not overburdened with confidence on beginning an expedition. Most of us, how- ever, felt that we were destined to see Indiansan impression probably due to the fact that we had determined to accomplish our purpose, if hard riding and watchfulness could attain this result. Our first days march brought us to a small stream, a tributary of the Re- publican river, on whose banks we encamped for ~ie night. Dayli~ht the fol- lowin~ mornin~ found us in the saddle and ascendin~ from the valley to the table-lands; we were still in the broken country. On reaching the plateau overlooking the valley we found ourselves enveloped in a dense fog, so dense that the sky was not visible, nor was an extended view of the country possible. Had the surface of the plain been, as usual, level and unbroken, we could have pursued our march guided by the unerring compass. But deep and impassa- ble caflons divided the country in all directions and rendered our further pro- gress impracticable. The sun, however, soon rose high enou~h to drive away the mist, and permitted us to proceed on what might be truly termed our wind- ing way. The afternoon of the fourth day we reached the forks of the Republi~can, and there went into camp. We were then located about seventy-five miles southeast of Fort Sedgwick, and about the same distance northeast of Fort Wallace. Intending to scout the surrounding country thoroughly in search of Indians, we selected our camp with reference to a sojourn of several days, combining among its essentials wood, water, good grazing, and last, but not least, facilities for defence. When I parted from General Sherman the understanding- was, tW t after beating up the country thoroughly about the forks of the Republican river, I should march my command. to Fort Sedgwick, and there I would either see General Sherman again or receive further instructions from him. Circum- stances seemed to favor a modification of this plan, at least as to marching the entire command to Fort Sed~ wick. It was therefore decided to send a trusty officer with a sufficient escort to Fort Sedgwick with my despatch, and to receive the despatches which might be intended for me. My proposed change of programnie contemplated a continuous march, which mih ht be pro- longed twenty days or more. To this end additional supplies were necessary. The guides all agreed in the statement that we were then about equidistant from Fort Wallace on the south and Fort Sedgwick on the north, at either of which the required supplies could be obtained; but that while the country be-

MY LIFE ON THE PLAfNS. BEFORE leaving the Platte I employed two additional interpreters who were familiar with the Sioux language. Both were white men, but, following the example of many fr6ntiersmen, they had taken unto themselves Indian wives, and each had become the head of a considerable family of half- breeds. Starting nearly due south from thd Platte, and marching up the cafion, which forms a natural gateway through the otherwise almost impassable barrier of bluffs and deep ravines bordering the valley of the Platte river, we again set out in search of Indians. The latter are sought after so frequently and found so seldom, except when not wanted, that scouting parties, as a general thing, are not overburdened with confidence on beginning an expedition. Most of us, how- ever, felt that we were destined to see Indiansan impression probably due to the fact that we had determined to accomplish our purpose, if hard riding and watchfulness could attain this result. Our first days march brought us to a small stream, a tributary of the Re- publican river, on whose banks we encamped for ~ie night. Dayli~ht the fol- lowin~ mornin~ found us in the saddle and ascendin~ from the valley to the table-lands; we were still in the broken country. On reaching the plateau overlooking the valley we found ourselves enveloped in a dense fog, so dense that the sky was not visible, nor was an extended view of the country possible. Had the surface of the plain been, as usual, level and unbroken, we could have pursued our march guided by the unerring compass. But deep and impassa- ble caflons divided the country in all directions and rendered our further pro- gress impracticable. The sun, however, soon rose high enou~h to drive away the mist, and permitted us to proceed on what might be truly termed our wind- ing way. The afternoon of the fourth day we reached the forks of the Republi~can, and there went into camp. We were then located about seventy-five miles southeast of Fort Sedgwick, and about the same distance northeast of Fort Wallace. Intending to scout the surrounding country thoroughly in search of Indians, we selected our camp with reference to a sojourn of several days, combining among its essentials wood, water, good grazing, and last, but not least, facilities for defence. When I parted from General Sherman the understanding- was, tW t after beating up the country thoroughly about the forks of the Republican river, I should march my command. to Fort Sedgwick, and there I would either see General Sherman again or receive further instructions from him. Circum- stances seemed to favor a modification of this plan, at least as to marching the entire command to Fort Sed~ wick. It was therefore decided to send a trusty officer with a sufficient escort to Fort Sedgwick with my despatch, and to receive the despatches which might be intended for me. My proposed change of programnie contemplated a continuous march, which mih ht be pro- longed twenty days or more. To this end additional supplies were necessary. The guides all agreed in the statement that we were then about equidistant from Fort Wallace on the south and Fort Sedgwick on the north, at either of which the required supplies could be obtained; but that while the country be- 26 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. [JULY, tween ~ur camp and the former was generally level and unbrokenfavorable to the movement of our wa~on trainthat between us and Fort Sedgwick was almost impassable for heavily-laden wagons. The train then was to go to Fort Wallace under sufficient escort, be loaded with fresh supplies, and -rej~n us in camp. At the same time the officer selected for that mission could pro- ceed to Fort Sedgwick, obtain his despatch, and return. Major Joel A. Elliot, a young officer of great courage and enterprise, was selected as bearer of despatches to Fort Sedgwick. As the errand was one involving considerable danger, requiring for the round trip a ride of almost two hundred miles, through a country which was not only almost unknown but infested by large numbers of hostile Indians, the Major was authorized ~o arrange the dctails in accordance with his own jud~ment. Knowing that small detachments can move more rapidly than large ones, and that he was to depend upon celerity of movement rather than strength of numbcrs to evade the numerous war parties prowling in that vicinity, the Major limited the size of his escort to ten picked men and one of the guides, all mounted on fleet horses. To elude the watchful eyes of any parties that might be noting our movements, it was deemed advisable to set out from camp as soon as it was dark, ~nd by making a rapid night ride get beyond the circle of danger. In this ~ray the little party took its departure on the night of the 23d of June. On the same day our train of wagons set out for Fort Wallace to obtain supplies. Colonel West with one full squadron of cavalry was ordered to escort, the train to Beaver Creek, about midway, and there halt with one of his companies, while the train, under escort of one company commanded by Lieu- tenant Robbins, should proceed to the fort and returnColonel West to eni- ploy the interval in scouting up and down Beaver Creek. The train was under the special management of Colonel Cook, who on this occasion was acting in the capacity of a ~taff officer. While at Fort McPherson, and when under the impression that my com- ruand upon arriving at Fort Wallace, after terminating the scouting expedi- tion we were then enga~ed upon, ~rould remain in camp for several weeks, I wrote to my wife at Fort Hays, advising her to meet me at Fort Wallace, pro- vided that travel between the two posts was considered safe. I expected her to reach Fort Wallace before the arrival of the train and escort from my camp, and under this impression I sent a letter to her by Colonel Cook, asking her to come to our camp on the Republican under escort of the Colonel, who was an intimate friend of the family. I am thus minute in giving these de- tails, in order that the events of the succeeding few days may appear in their proper light. After the departure of the two detachments, which left us in almost oppo- site directions, our camp settled down to the dull and unexciting monotony of waiting patiently for the time when we should welcome our comrades hack again, and listen to such items of news as they might bring to us. Little did, we imagine that the monotony of idle~iess was so soon and so abruptly to be broken. That night our pickets were posted as usual; the horses and mules, after being allowed to graze in the evening, were brought in and securely tethered close to our tents, and the stable guards of the different troops had been assigned to their stations for the night. At half-past eight the bugler at headquarters sounded the signal for taps, and before the last note had died away every light, in obedience to this command, disap 1872.1 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. 27 peared, and nothing remained to the eye, except here and there a faint glimpse of a white tent, to indicate the presence of our camp. It was just that uncertain period between darkness and daylight on the fol- lowing morning, and I was lying in my tent deep in the enjoyment of that per- fect repose which only camp life offers, when the sharp, clear crack of a car- bine near by brought me to my feet. I knew in an instant that the shot came from the picket posted not far from the rear of my camp. At the same mo- ment my brother, Colo~nel Custer, who on that occasion was officer of tile day, and whose duties required him to be particularly on the alert, rushed past my tent, halting only long enough to show his face through the openin~ and shout, They are here! Now I did not inquire who were referred to, or how many were included in the word they, nor did my informant seem to think it necessary to ex- plain. They referred to Indians, I knew full well. Had I doubted, the brisk fusillade which opened the next moment, and the wild war-whoop, were con- vincing evidences that in truth they were here! Ordinarily, I niust confess to having sufficient regard for the customs and courtesies of life to endeavor to appear in society suitably and appropriately dressed. But when the alarm of Indians was given, and in such a startling manner as to show they were almost in our midst, the question was not What shall I wear? but What shall I do? It has become so commonin fact, al- most a lawto describe the costumes worn upon memorable occasions, that I may be pardoned if I indulge in ,a description which I will endeavor to make as brief as the costume itself. A modern Jenkins, if desiring to tell the truth, would probably express himself as follows: General Custer on this occasion appeared in a beautiful crimson robe (red flannel robe de nuit), very becoming to his complexion. His hair was worn au nctturel, ~and permitted to fall carelessly over his shoulders. In his hand he carried gracefully a handsome Spencer rifle. It is unnecessary to add that he became the observed of all observei~s.~ My orderly, as was his custom, on my retiring had securely tied all the fastenings to my tent, and it was usually the work of several minutes to undo this unnecessary labor. I had no time to throw away in this manner. Leap- ing from my bed, I grasped my trusty Spencer, which was always at my side whether waking or sleeping, and with a single dash burst open the tent, an(l, hatless as well as shoeless, ran to the point where the attack seemed to be con- centrated. It was sufficiently light to see our enemies and be seen. The first shot had brought every man of my command from his tent, armed and equipped for battle. The Indians, numberin~ hundreds, were all around the camp, evident- ly intending to surround us, while a party of about fifty of their best mounted warriors had, by taking advantage of a ravine, contrived to approach quite close before being discovered. It was the intention of this party to dash tllrough our ~canip, stampede all our horses, which were to be caught up by the parties surrounding us, and then finish us at their leisure. The picket, however, discovered the approach of this party, and by firing gave timely warning, thus frustrating tile plan of tile Indians, who almost in- variably base their hopes of success upon effecting -a surprise. My men opened on them such a brisk fire from their carbines that they were glad to withdraw beyond ran~e. Tile picket who gave the alarm was shot down at his post by the Indians, the entire party galloping over his body, and being prevented from scalping hint only by the fire from his comrades, who 28 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. [JULY, dashed out and recovered him. He was found to be badly though not mortally wounded by a rifle ball through the body. The Indians, seeing that their attempt to surprise ns and to stampede our horses had failed, then withdrew to a point but little over a mile from us, where they congregated, and seemed to hold a conference with each other. We did not fear any further attack at this time. They were satisfied with this attempt, and would await another opportunity. It was desirable, however, that we should learn if possible to what tribe our enemies belonged. I directed one of our interpreters to advance midway be- tween our camp and the Indians, and make the signal for holding a parley, and in this way ascertain who were the principal chiefs. The ordinary manner of opening communication with parties known or supposed to be hostile, is to ride toward them in a zigzag manner or to ride in a circle. The interpreter gave the proper signal, and was soon answered by a small party advancing from the main body of the Indians to within hailing dis- tance. It was then agreed that I, with six of the officers, should come to the bank of the river, which was about equidistant from my camp and from the point where the Indians had congregated, and there be met by an equal num- ber of the leading chiefs. To ~uard against treachery, I placed most of my command under arffis and arran~ed with the officer left in command that a blast from the bugle should bring assistance to me if required. Six of the officers and myself, taking with us a bugler and an interpreter, proceeded on horseback to the designated point. Dismounting, we left our horses in charge of the bugler, who was instructed to watch every movement of the Indians, and upon the first appearance of violence or treachery to sound the advance. Each of us took our revolvers from their leather cases and stuck them loosely in our belts. Descending to the river bank, we awaited the arrival of the seven chiefs. On one side of the river the bank was level and covered with a beautiful green sward, while on the opposite side it was broken and thickly covered by wil- lows and tall grass. The river itself was at this season of the year, and at this distance from its mouth, scarcely deserving of the name. The seven chiefs soon made their appearance on its opposite bank, and, after removing their leggings, waded across to where we stood. Imagine our surprise at recog- nizing as the head chief Pawnee Killer, our friend of the conference of the Platte, who on that occasion had overwhelmed us with the earnestness of his professions of peace, and who, after partaking of our hospitality under the guise of friendship, and leavin~ our camp laden with provisions and presents, returned to attack and murder us within a fortni~ ht. This, too, without the sli~htest provocation, for surely we had not trespassed against any right of theirs since time exchange of friendly greetings near Fort McPherson. Pawnee Killer and his chiefs met us as if they were quite willing to forgive us for interfering with the success of their intended surprisd of our camp in the morning. I avoided all reference to what had occurred, desiring if possi- ble to learn the locality of their village and their future movements. All at- tempts, however, to elicit information on these points were skilfully parried. The chiefs in turn were anxious to know our plans, but we declined to gratify timem. Upon crossing to our side of the river, Pawnee Killer a~d his compan- ions at once extended their hands, and saluted us with the familiar How. Suspicious of their intentions, I kept one hand on my revolver during the con- tinuance of our interview. 1872.1 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. 29 When we had about concluded our conference a young brave, completely armed, as were all the chiefs, emerged from the willows aud tall grass on the opposite bank and waded across to where we were, greeting us as the others had done. Nothing was thought of this act until a few moments after another brave did the same, and so on until four had crossed over and joined our group. I then called Pawnee Killers attention to the conditions under which we met, and told him he was violating his part ~f the contract. He endea~. vored to turn it off by saying that his young men felt well disposed toward us, and came over only to shake hands and say How. He was told, how- ever, that no more of his men must come. The conversation was then resumed and continued until another party of the warriors was seen preparin~ to cross from the other side. The conduct of these Indians in the morning, added to our opinions in general as regards treachery, convinced us that it would be in the highest degree imprudent to trust ourselves in their power. They already outnumbered us, eleven to seven, which were as heavy odds as we felt dis- posed to dive. We all felt convinced that the coming over of these warriors, one by one, was but the execution of a preconceived plan whereof we were to become the victims as soon as their advantage in numbers should justify them in attacking us. Again reminding Pawnee Killer of the stipulations of our agreement, and that while we had observed ours faithfully, he had disre~arded his, I told him that not another warrior of his should cross the river to our side. And calling his attention to the bugler, who stood at a safe distance from us, I told him that I would then instruct the bugler to watch the Indians who were upon the opposite bank, and, upon any of them making a movement as if to cross, to sound the signal which would bring my entire command to my side in a few moments. This satisfied Pawiiee Killer that any further attempt to play us false would only end in his own discomfiture. He at once signalled to the Indians on the other side to remain where they were. Nothing definite could be ~leaned from the replies of Pawnee Killer. I was satisfied that he and his t~ibe were contemplating mischief. Their pre- vious d~clarations of peaceful intent went for naught. Tb eir a~ttack on our camp in the morning proved what they would do if able to accomplish their purpose. I was extremely anxious, however, to detain the chiefs near my camp, Qr induce them to locate their villa~ e near us, and keep up the sem- blance at least of friendship. I xv~ s particularly prompted to this desire by the fact that the two detachments which had left my command the previous day xvould necessarily continue absent several days, and I feared that they might become the victims of an attack from this band if steps were not taken to prevent it. Our anxiety was greatest regarding Majdr Elliot and his little party of eleven. Our only hope was that the Indians had not become aware of their departure. It was fortunate that the Major had chosen night as the most favorable time for setting out. As to the detachment that had gone with the train to Fort Wallace we felt less anxious, it being sufficiently pow~ erful in numbers to defend itself, unless attacked after the detachment became divided at Beaver Creek. Findin~ all efforts to induce Pawnee Killer to remain with us unavailing, I told him that we would march to his village with him. rrhis did not seem sat- isfactoi~y~ Before terminating our interview, the chiefs requested me to make them presents of seine sugar, coffee, and ammunition. Remembering the use they 30 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. [JULY, had made of the latter article in the morning, it will not appear strange if I declined to gratify them. Seeing that nothing was to be ~aincd by prolon~- ing the interview, we sepaiated, the officers returning to our camp, and the Indians recrossing the river, mounting their ponies, and gallopin~ off to the main body, which was then nearly two miles distant. My command was in readiness to leap into their saddles, and I determined to attempt to follow the Indians, and, if possible, get near their vilbige. They were prepared for this move on our part, and the moment we advanced toward them set off at the top of their speed. We followed as rapidly as our heavier horses could travel, but the speed of the Indian pony on this occasion, as on many others, was too great for that of our horses. A pursuit of a few hours proved our inability to overtake them, and we returned to camp. Soon after arrivin~ at camp a small party of Indians was reported in si~ht in a differcat direction. Captain Louis Hamilton, a lineal descendant of Al- exander Hamilton, w s immediately ordered to take his troop and learn some- thing of their intentions. The Indians resorted to their usual tactics. There were not more than half a dozen to be seennot enough to appear formidable. These were there as a decoy. Captain Hamilton marched his troop toward the hill on which the Indians had niade their appdarance, but on arriving at its crest found that they had retired ~o the next rid~e beyond. This man~uvre was repeated several times, until the cavalry found itself several miles from camp. The Indians then appeared to separate into two parties, each going in different directions. Capt in Hamilton divided his troop into two detachments, sending one detachment, under command of my brother, after one of the par- ties, while he with twenty-five men continued to follow the other. When the two detachments had become so far separated as to be of no as- sistance to each other, the Indians developed their scheme. Suddenly dashing from a ravine, as if springing from the earth, forty-three Indian warriors burst out upon the cavalry, lettin~ fly their arrows and filling the air with their wild war-whoops. Fortunately Captain 1-lamilton was an officer of great presence of mind as well as undaunted courage. The Indians began circling about the troops, throwing themselves upon the sides of the3r ponies and aiming their carbines and arrows over the necks of their well-traiued war-steeds. Captain Hamilton formed his men in order to defend themselves against the assaults of their active enemies. The Indians, displayed unusual boldness, sometinies dashing close up to the cavalry and sendin~ in a perfect shower of bullets and arrows. Fortunately their aim, riding as they did at full speed, was necessa- iily inaccurate. All this time we who had remained in camp were in ignorance of what was transpiring. Dr. Coates, whose acquaintance has been made before; had ac- companied Captain 1-lamiltons command, but when the latter was divided the doctor joined the detachment of my brother. In some unexplained manner the doctor became separated from both parties, and remained so until the sound of the firing attracted him toward Captain Hamiltons party. When within half a mile of the latter, he saw what was transpiring; saw our men in the centre and the Indians charging and firing from the outside. Ills first impulse was to push on and endeavor to break throuoh the line of savages, casting his lot with his strng~ ii ug comrades. This impulse was suddenly nipped in the bud. The Indians, with their quick, watchful eyes, bad discovered his pres- ence, and half a dozen of their best mounted warriors at once galloped toward him. 1872.] MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. 31 Happily the doctor was in the direction of camp from Captain Hamiltons party, and, comprehending the peril of his situation at a glance, turned his horses head toward camp, and applying the spur freely set out on a ride fot life. The Indians saw this move, but were not disposed to be deprived of their victim in this way. They were better mounted than the doctor, his only ad- vantage being in the start and the greater object to be attained. When the race began he was fully four miles from camp, the day was hot and sultry, the coun- try rough and broken, and his horse somewhat jaded from the effects of the ride in the morning. These must have seemed immense obstacles in the eyes of a man who was riding for dear life. A false step, a broken ~ irth, or almost any trifle, might decide his fate. How often, if ever, the doctor looked back, I know not; his eyes more prob- bably were strained to catch a ~impse of camp or of assistance accidentally coming to his relief. Neither the one nor the other appeared. His pursuers, knowing that their success must be gained soon if at all, pressed their fleet po- nies forward until they seemed to skim over the surface of the green plain, and their shouts of exultation falling clearer and louder upon his ear told the doc- tor that they were surely gaining upon him. Fortunately our domestic horses, until accustomed to their presence, are as terrified by Indians as by a huge wild beast, and will fly from them if not restrained. The yells of the ap- proaching Indians served no doubt to quicken the energies of the doctors horse, and impelled him to greater efforts to escape. So close had the Indians succeeded in approaching that they were almost within arrow range, and would soon have sent one flying through the doctors body, when, to the great joy of the pursued and the corresponding grief of his pursuers, camp suddenly appeared in full view scarcely a mile distant. The ponies of the Indians had been ridden too hard to justify their riders in ventur- ing near enough to provoke pursuit upon fresh animals. Sendin~ a parting volley of bullets after the flying doctor, they turned about and disappeared. The doctor did not slacken his pace on this account, however; he knew that Captain hamiltons party was in peril, and that assistance should reach him as soon as possible. Without tightening rein or sparing spur, he came dashing into camp, and the first we knew of his presence be had thrown himself from his almost breathless horse, and was lying on the ground un ble, from slicer ex- haustion and excitement, to utter a word. The officers and men gathered about him in astonishment, eager and anx- ious to hear his story, for all knew that something far from any ordinary event had transpired to place the doctor in such a condition of mind and body. As soon as he had recovered sufficiently to speak, he told us that he had left Cap- tain Hamilton surrounded by a superior force of ~ndians, and that he himself had been pursued almost to the borders of camp. This was enough. The next moment the bu~le rang out the signal To horse, and in less time than would be required to describe it, horses were sad- dled and arms ready. Then there was mounting in hot haste. A mo- ment later the command set off at a brisk trot to attempt the rescue of their be- leaguered comrades. Persons unfamiliar with the cavalry service may mentally inquire why, in such an emergency as this, the i~tended reinforcements were not pushed for- ward at a rapid gallop? But in answer to this it need only be said that we had a ride of at least five miles before us in order to arrive at the point where Cap- tain hamilton and his command had last been seen, and it was absolutely ne 82 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. [JULY, cessary to so husband the powers of our horses as to save them for the real work of conflict. We had advanced in this manner probably .two miles, when we discerned in the distance the approach of Captain Ilamiltons party. They were return- ing leisurely to camp, after having succeeded in driving off their assailants and inflicting upon them a loss of two warriors killed and several wounded. The Indians could only boast of having wounded a horse belongin~, to Captain Hamiltons party. This encounter with the Indians occurred in the direction taken by Major Elliots detachment on leaving camp, and the Indians, after this repulse by Captain Hamilton, withdrew in that direction. This added to our anxiety con- cerning the safety of Major Elliot and his men. There was no doubt now that all Indians infesting the broad belt of country between the Arkansas and Platte rivers were on the war path, and would seek revenge from any party so unfor- tnnate as to fall in their way. The loss of the two warriors slain in the fight, and their wounded comrades, would he additional incentives to acts of hostili- ty. If there had been any possible means of communicating with Major Elli- ot, and either strengthening or warning hhn, it would have been done. He left us by no travelled or defined route, and it was by no means probable that he would pass over the same trail in coming from Fort Sedgwick as in going to that point; otherwise reinforcements could have been sent out over his trail to meet him. On the 27th our fears for the safety of the Major and his escort were dis- pelled by their safe return to camp, having accomplished a ride of nearly two hundred miles through an enemys country. They had concealed themselves in ravines during the daytime and travelled at night, trusting to the faithful comp ss and their guide to bring them safely back. Now th~ t the Major and his party had returned to us, our anxiety became centred in the fate of the larger party which had proceeded with the train to Fort Wallace for supplies. The fact that Major Elliot had made his trip un- molested by Indians, proved that the latter were most likely assembled south of us, that is, between us and Fort Wallace. Wherever they were, their num- bers were known to be large. It would be impossible for a considerable force, let alone a wa~on train, to pass from our camp to Fort Wallace and not be seen by the Indian scouting p rtics. They had probably observed the depart- ure of the train and escort at the time, and, divining the object which occasioned the sending of the wagons, would permit them to go to the fort unmolested, but would waylay them on their return, in the hope of obtaining the supplies they contained. Under this supposition the Indians had probably watched the train and escort during every inil~ of their progress; if so, they would not fail to dis- cover that the larger portion of the escort halted at Beaver Creek, while the wagons proceeded to the fort guarded by only forty-eight men; in which Case the Indians would combine their forces and attack the train at some point be- tween Fort Wallace and Beaver Creek. Looking at these probable events, I not only felt impelled to act promptly to secure the safety of the train and its escort, but a deeper and stronger mo- tive stirred me to leave nothin~ undone to circumvent the Indians. My wife, who, in answer to my letter, I believed was then at Fort Wallace, would place herself under the protection of the escort of the train and attempt to rejoin me in camp. The mere thought of the danger to which she might be exposed spurred me to decisive action. One full squadron, well mounted and armed, 1872.] MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. $3 under command of Lieutenant-Colonel Myers, an officer of great experience in Indian affairs, left our camp at dark on the evening of the day that Captain Hamilton had had his en ~ agement with the Indians, and set out in the direc- tion of Fort Wallace., His orders were to press forward as rapidly as practi- cable, following the trail made by the tri~in. Written orders were sent in his care to Colonel West, who was in command of that portion ofthe escort which had halted at Beaver Creek, to join Colonel Myerss command with his own, and then to continue the march toward Fort Wallace until he should meet the re- turning train and escort. The Indians, however, were not to be deprived of this opportunity to secure scalps and plunder. From our cnmp to Beaver Creek was nearly fifty miles. Colonel Myers marched his command without halting until he joined Colonel West at Beaver Creek. Here the two commands united, and under the direction of Colonel West, the senior officer of the party, proceeded toward Fort Wallace, follow- ing the trail left by the wagon train and escort. If the escort and Colonel Wests forces could be united, they might confidently hope to repel any attack made upon them by Indians. Colonel West was an old Indian fighter, and too thoroughly accustomed to Indian tactics to permit his command to be surprised or defeated in any manner other than by a fair contest. Let us leave them for a time and join the wagon train and its escortthe latter numbering, all told, as before stated, forty-eight men under the imme- diate command of Lieutenant Robbins. Colonel Cook, whose special duty con- nocted him with ~he train and its supplies, could also be relied upon for ma- terial assistance with the troops, in case of actual conflict with the enemy. Comstock, the favorite scout, a host in himself, was sent to guide the party to and from Fort Wallace. In addition to these were the teamsters, who could not be expected to do more than control their teams should the train be at- tacked. The march from camp to Beaver Creek was made without incident. Hero the combh~ed forces of Colonel West and Lieutenant Robbins encamped to- gether during the night. Next morning at early dawn Lieutenant Robbinss party, having the train in charge, continued the march toward Fort Wallace, while Colonel West sent out scouting parties up and down the stream to search for Indians. As yet none of their party were aware of the hostile attitude assumed by the Indians within the past few hours, and Colonel Wests instructions con- templated a friendly meeting between his forces and the Indians should the latter be discovered. The in rch of the train and escort was made to Fort Wallace without interruption. The only incident worthy of remark was an observation of Comstocks, which pi~oved how thoroughly he was familiar with the Indian and his customs. The escort was moving over a beautifully level plateau. Not a mound or hillock disturbed the evenness of the surface for miles in either direction. To an unpractised eye there seemed no recess or obstruction in or behind which an enemy might be concealed, but everything appeared open to the view for miles and miles, look in what direction one might. Yet such was not the case. Ravines of greater or less extent, though not perceptible at a glance, might have been discovered if searched for, extending almost to the trail over which the party was moving. These ravines, if followed, would be found to grow deeper and deeper, until, after running their course for an indefinite extent, they would terminate in the valley of some running stream. These were the natural hid- 84 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. [JULY, ing-places of Indian war parties, waiting their opportunities to dash upon tin- suspecting victims. These ravines serve the same purpose to the Indians of the timberless plains that the ambush did to those Indians of the Eastern States accustomed to fighting in the forests and everglades. Comstocks keen eyes took in all at a glance, and he remarked to Colonel Cook and Lieutenant Rob- bins, as the three rode together at the head of the column, that If the Injuns strike us at all, it will be just about the time we are comm along back over this very spot. Now mind what I tell ye all. We shall see how correct Coin- stocks prophecy was. Arriving at the fort, no time was~ lost in loading up the wagons with fresh supplies, obtaining the mail intended for the command, and preparing to set out on the return to camp the following day. No late news regarding Indian movements was obtained. Fortunately, my letter from Fort McPherson to Mrs. Custer, asking her to come to Fort Wallace, miscarried, and she did not undertake a journey which in all probability would have imperilled her life, if not terminated it ii? a most tragic manner. On the following morning Colonel Cook and Lieutenant Robbins began their return march. They had advanced one half the distance which sepa- rated them from Colonel Wests camp without the sli~htest occurrence to dis- turb the monotony of their march, and had reached the point where, on pass- ing before, Comstock had indul~ed in his prognostication regarding Indians; yet nothing had been seen to excite suspicion or alarm. Comstock, always on the alert and with eyes as quick as those of an Indian, had been scanning the horizon in all directions. Suddenly he perceived, or thought he perceived, strange figures, resembling human heads, peering over the crest of a hill far away to the right. Hastily levelling his field-glass, he pro- nounced the strange figures, which were scarcely perceptible, to be neither more nor less than Indians, The officers brought into requisition their glasses, and were soon convinced of the correctness of Comstocks report. It was some time before the Indians perceived that they were discovered. Conceal- ment then being no longer possible, they boldly rode to the crest and exposed themselves to full view. At first but twenty or thirty made their appearance; gradually their number became augmented, until about a hundred wariiors could be seen. It may readily be imagined that the appearance of so considerable a body of Indians produced no little excitement and speculation in the minds of the peo- ple with the train. The speculation was as to the intentions of the Indians, whether hostile or friendly. Upon this sui~ject all doubts were soon dispelled. The Indians continued to receive accessions to their numbers, the reinforce- ments coming from beyond the crest of the hill on which their presence was first discovered. Finally, seeming confident in their superior numbers, ) the warriors, all of whom were mounted, advanced leisurely down the slope leading in the direction of the train and its escort. By the aid of field- glasses; Comstock. and the two officers were able to determine fully the character of the party now approaching them. The last doubt was thus re- moved. It was clearly to be seen that the Indians were arrayed in full war costume, their heads adorned by the brilliantly colored war bonnets, their faces, arms, and bodies painted in various colors, rendering their naturally repulsive appearance even more hideous. As they approached nearer they assumed a certain order in the manner of their advance. Some were to be seen carrying the long glistening lance with its pennant of bright colors; while upon the 1872.] MY LIFE ON TIlE PLAINS. 35 left arm hung the round shield, almost bullet-proof, and ornamented with paint and feathers according to the taste of the wearer. Nearly all were armed witlicarbines and one or two revolvers, while many in addition to these weap- ons carried the bow and arrow. When the entire band had defiled down the inclined slope, Comstock and the officers were able to estimate roughly the full strength of the party. They were astonished to perceive that between six and seven hundred warriors were bearing down upon them, and in a few minutes would uiidoubtedly commence the attack. Against such odds, and upon ground so favorable for the Indian mode of warfare, it seemed unreasonable to hope for a favorable result. Yet the entire escort, officers and men, entered upon their defence ivith the deter- mination to sell their lives as dearly as possible. As the coming engagement, so far as the cavalry was concerned, was to be purely a defensive one, Lieutenant Robbins at once set about preparing to re- ceive his unwelcome visitors. Colonel Cook formed the train in two parallel columns, leaving ample space between for the horses of the cavalry. Lieu- tenant Robbins then dismounted his men and prepared to fight on foot. The led horses, under charge of the fourth trooper, were placed between the two columns of wagons, and were thus in a measure protected from the as- saults which the officers had every reason to believe would be made for their capture. The dismounted cavalrymen were thus formed in a regular circle enclosing the train and horses. Colonel Cook took command of one flank, Lieutenant Robbins of the other, while Comstock, who as well as the two offi- cers remained mounted, galloped from point to point wherever his presence was most valuable. These dispositions being perfected, the march was resumed in this order, and the attack of the sava& s calmly awaited. The Indians, who were interested spectators of these preparations for their reception, continued to approach, but seemed willing to delay their attack until the plain became a little more favorable for their operations. Finally, the desired moment seemed to have arrived. The Indians had approached to within easy range, yet not a shot had been fired, the cavalrymen havin~ been in- structed by their officers to reserve their fire for close quarters. Suddenly, with a wild ringing war-whoop, the entire band of warriors bore down upon the train and its little party of defenders. On came the savages, fillin~ the air with their terrible yells. Their first object, evidently, was to stampede the horses and draught animals of the train; thea, in the excifement and consternation which would follow, to massacre the escort and drivers. The ~ agon-master in immediate chars e of the train had been ordered to keep his two columns of wa~ons constantly moving forward and well closed up. This last injunction was hardly necessary, as the fri~ ht- ened teamsters, glancing at the approaching warriors and hearing their savage shouts, were sufficiently anxious to keep well closed upon their leaders. The first onslaught of the Indians was made on the flank which was superin- tended by Colonel Cook. They rode boldly forward as if to dash over the mere handful of cavalrymen, who stood in skirmishing order in a circle about the train. Not a soldier faltered as the enemy came thundering upon them, but waiting until the Indians were within short rifle range of the train, the cavalrymen dropped upon their knees, and taking deliber te aim poured a vol- ley from their Spencer carbines into the ranks of the savages, which seemed to put a sudden check upon the ardor of their niovements and forced them to wheel off to the ri0 ht. Several of the warriors were seen to reel in their sad- 36 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. [JULY, dies, while the ponies of others were brought down or wounded by the effectual fire of the cavalrymen. Those of the savages who were shot from their saddles were scarcely per- mitted to fall to the ground before a score or more of their comrades dashed to their rescue and bore their bodies beyond the possible reach of our monA This is in accordance with the Indian custom in battle. They will risk the lives of a dozen of their best warriors to prevent the body of any one of their numl)er from falling into the white mans possession. The reason for this is the belief, which generally prevails among all the tribes, that if a warrior loses his scalp he forfeits his hope of ever reaching tbe happy hunting-ground. As the Indians were being driven back by the well-directed volley of the cavalrymen, the latter, overjoyed at their first success, became reassured, and sent up a cheer of exultation, while Comstock, who had not been idle in the fight, called out to the retreating Indians in their native tongue, taunting them with their unsuccessful assault. The Indians withdrew to a point beyond the range of our carbines, and there seemed to engage in a parley. Comstock, who had closely watched every movement, remarked that Theres no sich good luck for us as to think theni Injuns mean to give it up so. Six hundred red devils aint agoin to let fifty men stop them from gettin at the coffee and sugar that is in these wagons. And they aint agoin to be satisfied until they get some of our scalps to pay for the bucks we popped out of their saddles a bit ago. It was probable that the Indians were satisfied that they could not dash through the train and stampede the animals. Their recent attempt had con- vinced them that some other method of attack must he resorted to. Nothing but their greater superiority in numbers had induced them to risk so much in a charge. The officers passed along tle line of skirmishersfor this in reality was all their line consisted ofand cautioned the men against wasting their ammuni- tion. It was yet early in the afternoon, and should the conflict be prolonged until night, there was great danger of exhausting the supply of ammunition. The Indians seemed to have thought of this, and the change in their method of attack encoura~ed such a result. But little time was spent at the parley. Again the entire band of warriors, except those already disabled, prepared to renew the attack, and advanced as beforethis time, however, with greater caution, evidently desiring to avoid a reception similar to the first. WThen sufficiently near to the troops the In- dians developed their new plan of attack. It was not to advance en masse, as before, but fight as individuals, each warrior selecting his own time and method of attack. This is the habitual manner of fighting among all Indians of the Plains, and is termed circling. First the chiefs led off, followed at regular intervals by the warriors, until the entire six or seven hundred were to be seen riding in sin~le file as rapidly as their fleet-footed ponies could carry them. Preservin~ this order, and keeping up their savage chorus of yells, war-whoops, and taunting epithets, this long line of mounted barbarians was guided in such manner as to envelop the train and escort, and make the latter appear like a small circle within a larger one. The Indians gradually contracted their circle, although maintaining the full speed of their ponies, until sufficiently close to open lire upon the soldiers. At first the shots were scattering and wide of their mark; but, emboldened by the silence of their few but determined opponents, they rode nearer and fought 1872.] MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. 37 with greater impetuosity. Forced now to defend themselves to the uttermost, the cavalrymen opened fire from their carbines, with most gratifying results. The Indians, however, moving at such a rapid gait and in single file, presented a most uncertain target. To add to this uncertainty, the savages availed them- selves of their superioralmost marvellouspowers of horsemanship. Throw- ing themselves upon the sides of their well-trained ponies, they left no p~ rt of their persons exposed to the aim of the troopers except the head and one foot, and in this posture they were able to aim the weapons either over or un(ler the necks of their ponies, thus using the bodies of the latter as an effective shield against the bullets of their adversaries. At no time were the Indians able to force the train and its escort to come to a baIt. The march was continued at an uninterrupted gait. This successful defence against the Indians was in a great measure due to the presence of the wagons, which, arranged in the order described, formed a complete barrier to the char~es and assaults of the savages; and, as a last resort, the wagons could have been halted and used as a breastwork, behind which the cavalry, dis- mounted, would have been almost invincible against their more numerous en- emies. There is nothing an Indian dislikes more in warfare than to attack a foe, however weak, behind breastworks of any kind. Any contrivance which is an obstacle to his pony is a most serious obstacle to the warrior. The attack of the Indians, aggravated by their losses in warriors and po- nies, as many of the latter had been shot down, was continued without cessa- tion for three hours. The supply of ammunition of the cavalry was running low. The fourth troopers, who had remained in char~e of tIme led horses between the two columns of ~va~ons, were now replaced from the skirmishers, and the former were added to the list of active combatants. If the Indians should maintain the fight much longer, there was serious nround for apprehen- sion re ar ding the limited supply of ammunition. If only night or reinforcements would come! was the prayerful hope of those who contended so gallantly against such heavy odds. Ni~~t was still too far off to promise much encouragement; while as to reinforcements, their com- ing would be purely accidentalat least so argued those most interested in theii~ arrival. Yet reinforcements were at that moment striving to reach them.. Comrades were in the saddle and spurring forward to their relief. The In- dians, although apparently turning all their attention to the little band inside, had omitted no precaution to guard against interference from outside parties. In this instance, perhaps, they were more than ordinarily watchful, and had posted some of their keen-eyed warriors on the hi~h line of bluffs which ran al- most parallel to the trail over Which the combatants moved. From them bluffls not only a good vi.ew of the fight could be obtained, hut the country for miles in either direction was spread out beneath them, and enabled the scouts to dis- cern the approach of any hostile party which might be advancing. Fortunate for the savages that this precaution had not been neglected, or the contest in which they were engaged might have become one of more equal numbers. To the careless eye nothing could have been seen to excite suspicion. But the warriors on the lookout were not long in discovering sometl~ing which occa- sioned them no little anxiety. Dismounting from their ponies and concealing the latter in a ravine, they prepared to investigate more fully the cause of their alarm. That which they saw was as yet but a faint dark line on the surface of the plain, almost against the horizon. So faint was it that no one but an Indian or 3 38 MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS. EJULY. practised frontiersman would have observed it. It was fully ten miles from them and directly in their line of march. The ordinary observer would have pronounced it a break or irregularity in the ground, or perhaps the shadow of a cloud, and its apparent permanency of location would have dispelled any fear as to its dangerous character. But was it stationary P Apparently, yes. The Indians discovered otherwise. By close watching, the long faint line could be seen moving along, as if creeping stealthily upon an unconscious foe. Slowly it assumed a more definite shape, until what appeared to be a mere stationary dark line drawn upon the green surface of the plain, developed itself to the searching eyes of the red man into a column of caValry moving at a rapid gait toward the very point they were then occupying. Convinced of this fact, one of the scouts leaped upon his pony and flew with almost the speed of the wind to impart this knowledge to the chiefs in command on the plain below. True, the approaching cavalry, being still sev- eral miles distant, could not arrive for nearly two hours; but the question to be considered by the Indians was, whether it would be prudent for them to con- tinue their attack on the traintheir ponies already becoming exhausted by the three hours hard riding given themuntil the arrival of the fresh detachment of the enemy, whose horses might be in condition favorable to a rapid pursuit, and thereby enable them to overtake those of the Indians whose ponies were exhausted. Unwilling to incur this new risk, and seeing no prospect of over- coining their present adversaries by a sudden or combined dash, the chiefs de- cided to withdraw from the attack, and make their escape while the advantage was yet in their favor. The surprise of the cavalrymen may be imagined at seeing the Indians, after pouring a shower of bullets and arrows into the train, withdraw to the bluffs, and imniediately after continue t~heir retreat until lost to view. This victory for the troopers, althou~h so unexpected, was none the less welcome. The Indians contrived to carry away with them their killed and .1 wounded. Five of their bravest warriors weie ~nown to have been sent to the happy hunting-ground, while the list of their wounded was much larger. After the Indians had withdrawn and left the ~cavalrymen masters of the field, our wounded, of whom there were comparatively few, received every possible care and attention. Those of the detachment who had escaped un- harmed were bnsily engaged in exchanging congratulations and relating inci- dents of the fight. In this manner nearly an hour had been whiled away, when far in the dis- tance, in their immediate front, fresh cause for anxiety was discovered. At first the general opinion was that it was the Indians again, determined to contest their progress. Field-glasses were again called into requisition, and revealed, not Indians, but the familiar blue blouses of the cavalry. Never was the sight more welcome. The next moment Colonel Cook, with Comstock and a few troopers, applied spurs to their horses and were soon dashing forward to meet their comrades. The approaching party was none other than Colonel Wests detachment, hastening to the relief of the train and its gallant little escort. A few words explained all, and told the heroes of the recent fight. how it happened that re- inforcements were sent to their assistance ; and then was explained why the Indians had so suddenly concluded to abandon their attack and seek safety in quietly withdrawing from the field. G. A. CUSTER. ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. T TIE death of Erastus Corning, who was President of the New York Central Railroad from the time of its organization in 1853 down to 1865, brings to mind the untimely decease of iDean Richmond, who succeeded him in that office, and who died in 1867, broken down by excessive labor and the constant strain upon his powers, physical and mental. Mr. Corning was tea years the senior of Mr. Richmond, and yet he outlived him for one half that period. Al- though of a large and powerful frame, hardened by much muscular exercise, having been accustomed to constant manual labor in his younger days, Mr. Richmond was of a highly sensitive nervous organization. He was alert, quick in his movements, and impatient of delays of any kindi-a habit of mh d that undoubtedly shortened his days. He was ssociated with Mr. Corning as Vice-President of the Central, and they acted together with great apparent harmony up to the time when Mr Corning retired from the presidency of the company. No two men could be more unlike. Mr. Richmond was hasty, impetuous, generous, warm-hearted, giving largely of his ample means for chant ble purposes and for benevolent and philanthropic objects; but he gave without system or method, from im- pulse generally, but sometimes to get rid of annoying importunities. Mr. Cor- ning, on the contrary, was cool, self-contained, with nerves of iron, never dis- turbed by any combination of adverse circumstances, and with a steadiness and firmness of purpose that nothing could baffle or sway. They were both ardent politicians, but (iisagree(l in respect to principles and modes of action. Mr. Corning sympathized with Marcy, Seymour, and Croswell. Mr. Richmond was a disciple of the school of Silas Wri~ 1 it, and only codperated with Mr. Corning after a certain portion of the Harcis became Softs, and so assumed with the Baraburners the control of the or~ anization. Mr. Richmond devoted much time to politics, and to a cursory or snperfl- cial observer there was something extraordinary and inexplicable in the vas~ political power he so long wielded. It was the deliberate judgment of one who knew him ivellhimself a gentleman of uncommon acuteness and discrimma- tionthat at the time of his death he exercised an influence in the formation and direction of public opinion second to no man in the United States. And in thisestimate of the ability of Mr. Richmond, and the commanding importance of his position, those most familiar with the part he performed in politics, State and national, will heartily concur. His abundant means, which he dispensed with a liberality that knew no stint, his steady refusal all official distinction, his thorough knowledge of men, and his almost unerring sagacity, all conspired to give his suggestions a degree of weight generally controlling in conventions as well as in popular assemblages. As an instance of his forecast, reaching frequently to prescience, the opin- ion of William 1~. Marcy, as expressed to rue, touching the preliminary pro- ceedings in New York, in regard to the Presidental election of 1852, may not be inappropriately produced in this connection. If I had listened to the advice of Mr. Richmond, instead of acting upon my own judgment, said th6 f r-see- ing old statesman, I should have been President of the United States instead of Franklin Pierce. The undivided support of New York Would, as things 40 ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. [JULY, V turned in the Convention, have given me the nomination. Richmond foresaw the contingency which there arose, and hence urged most strenuously that the State Convention should appoint the delegates to Baltimore instead of remit- ting the choice to the several Congressional districts. My friends composed two-thirds of the State Convention, and there was nothing inconsistent with the usages of the party or unusual in what he recommended. Still I was averse to it, knowing I should have a majority of the delegation. He per- sisted, and while his arguments had great force, I reluctantly declined his pro- position. He urged that a division among the delegates would be fatal to me; that in order to secure support from other States I must command the undi- vided vote of New York. But Beardsley and Dickinson would oppose my nom- ination, and with effect, alleging that I could not carry my own State; where- as, if our delegation acted as a unit, no such pretences could be set up. The results vindicated the sagacity of Dean Richmond. In fact, his foresight and penetration were rarely at fault. I never knew a safer adviser or a more far- seeing politician. Richmond lost his father when but a child, and he was thrown upon his own resources, with a mother to support, at an age when more fortunate chil- dren are acquiring the rudiments of an education. lie engaged in the business of salt-boiling at Syracuse when a mere lacJ, or at least some years before at- taining his majority and while in the prosecution of his business he met with an adventure at Sacketts I1~ rhor, the result of which illustrated some of the peculiarities of his character. He was in the habit of visiting the lake towns on Ontario, both on the American and Canadian side, in the prosecution of the salt trade. Being detained at the above-named port, then familh ny known as Sacketts, and justly regarded as one of the most dissipated places on the frontieralways infested with men of vicious inclinations and profligate habits he had occasion to observe the knavish devices of a gang of sharpers who made it a point to plunder every unsuspecting man whom they could entice ( into their toils. Amon~ their victims was a tin-peddler from Vermont. They had inveiAed him into a game at cards known as ~three up and three off ~ that is, three cards constituted a hand and three points the game. They soon won all his money, the contents of his peddler wagon, and the horse and wagon as well. The poor peddler, utterly ruined, was in despair, and hem0 a stran- ger in the nei0hborhood, and destitute of resources, he knew not which way to turn. But relief came from a quarter wholly unexpected. Young Richmond, seem0 the distress of the peddler, and penetrating the tricks by which he had been defrauded, proposed to take his hand in the game. The sharpers, de- Ii~hted at the prospect of a fresh victim, eagerly accepted his proposition, and set to work in earnest at their scheme of plunder. But they had a different person to deal with from the unsophisticated vender of tinw~ re. The gam- blers found themselves overmatched, and the result of the game was the recov- ery of all the property of wimich they had robbed tIme peddler. Richmond timen, in the presence of the gamblers, restored to the astonisimed man his horse and wagon and entire stock of goods, having taken from him a solemn promnise never again to play cards for money or to gamble in any mode whatever. Nearly a quarter of a century afterwards he was accosted in time streets of Syracuse by a well-to-do looking stranger, who represented himself to have been the tin-peddler who was extricated from ruin through the dexterity, firm- ness, and geneosity of young Richmond. The grateful man informed his as tonished listener that the promise given at Sacketts had never been violated, that he had been thrifty and constantly prosperous, and that he was then of 1872.] ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. 41 ample means, and proffered any pecuniary aid that his benefactor might he willing to accept. Richmond was a man of quick perception, happy in retort, with a senten- tious, epigrammatic mode of saying things, which gave them great forces When Mr. Lincoln passed through the State on his way to Washin~ton, in the winter of 1861, Mr. Richmond provided a special train for him at Buffalo an(l accompanied the party to Albany. At Syracuse Mr. Greeley joined the com- pany. Mr. Lincoln, who had a keen appreciation of original and peculiar mes, was much amused by the occasional pleasant passages between Richmond and Greelcy. A new sleeping-coach of elegant appointments and hi~h finish was placed at the disposal of the President elect. The snperb palace ears of the present day had not been invented, but this comfortable coach, with its elevated roof, spacious and complete accommodations, and perfect ventilation, was a great improvement upon the close, low-roofed, cheaply furnished, and din~y cars that were in general use at that time. Lincoln, Greeley, and Richmond were seated in this handsonie coach chatting in a free and easy manner. This is something like, Dean, said Greeley, but why dont you have all tour cars made in this way? The common miserable old things are nothing but a nuisance. We adopt improvements as they are invented, was the reply, but the changes have to be ~radual; we cannot afford to throw aside sub- stantial cars that have cost a great deal of money, and stock the road with those that are more expensive, merely for the comfort of passengers. When- ever we build new ones, we incorporate all available improvements. Oh, thats no excuse, was Greeleys rejoinder. The people confer upon you corporations special and extraordinary privile~es, and I tell you they will not be content unless you give them the best accommodations to be had. Why dont you put on this kind of car at once? Why dont we, sure enou~h? Why didnt you start your infernal old Tribune with three hundred thousand subscribers? Horace, I think Richmond has rather got you there, quietly remarked Mr. Lincoln. Nearly a quarter of a century ago, the Legislature of New York enacted a law imposing a capitation tax upon immigrants arriving from Europe and landing at Quarantine. A question was raised in respect to the constitutionality of tbis law, and the case was ultimately taken to the Supreme Court of the United States. Mr. Seward made the argument on one side, and John Van Buren on the other. The trial attracted considerable interest, not so much from the importance of the question involved as from the reputation and polit- ical position of the opposing counsel. Mr. Seward was a Senator in Congress, and the great Whig leader of the State while Van Buren was the most bril- liant orator and most popular man on the Democratic side. They were rivals at the bar, having then recently been engaged in the trial of the negro mrir- derer Freeman, at Auburn, during which there had been much sharp alterca- tion between them. The Whigs in Congress warmly sympathized with Seiv- ar(l, while the Democrats were equally active and zealous in encouraging Van Buren. The arguments were elaborate and able, the resulting impression be- ing that the Senator was more of a statesman than a lawyer, but that Van Buren was one of the most entertaining, impressive, and effective advocates that h~d ever been heard in the Court. Judge Taney presidedone of the purest, most learned, and able judges 42 ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. [JULY, that ever sat on the bench. lie was the impersonation of ones idea of the genius of jurisprudence. He was shy, reserved in manner, ascetic in his habits, a ~loon7Ly, forbidding-lookin~ man, resembling a monk of the middle a~ es; but under this cold and repulsive exterior there beat a warm sympa- thetic heart. He was a literal man, with no idea of a joke; was never satiri~ cal or ironical, and detested a pun or a quip as much as Dr. Johnson. The day the argument was closed, Van Buren contrived to fall in company with the Chief Justice in coming down the avenue from the Capitol. John h:sd a de~ree of coolness and self-possession un(ler all circumstances, that noth- ing ever disturbed. With an airy, jaunty manner, that would have been often- sive in anybody else, but which he made winning and attractive, he addressed the aged jurist: I was much flattered, Mr. Chief Justice, at the gracious attention with which you listened to my poor effort in behalf of the suffering inn igrants at Quarantine. ,Mr. Taney made a fitting response, and Van Buren coolly pro- ceeded: Far be it from me to say anything r6specting the decision of the Court. The Judge started with a gesture of deprecation, as if he apprehended an indiscretion on the part of the lawyer. I am quite aware of the apparent in(lelicacy of saying anything that should look like an attempt to influence the action of the Court. Here the Chief Justice gave a dissatisfied shrug of the shoulders, intended as a rebuke of what he regarded as an impertinence. But John was wholly unmoved, and went on with his remarks, as thou~h he was saying the most natural and appropriate thing imaginable. Nor would I presume to intimate that an early decision of the case is desirable. The Judge opened his eyes in amazement, but remained silent. But the truth is, your Honor, continued John, the poor devils t Quarantine are perishin~ daily, and it is of the utmost import~ nee that they should learn whether they are dyin~ constitutionally. Appreciating Johns waggery at last, the Chief Justice, much relieved, gave w y to a hearty laugh, and the conversation came to an end. John Van Buren had in him the making of a great lawyer and a statesman of coruinandin~ power. I-Ic lacked nothing but industry and steadiness of purpose. Quick of perception, with fine faculties, uncommon logical powers, and abundant imagination, he never failed to command the admiring attention of his auditory. Admiral Gregory, so much distinguished during the rebellion for the skill au(l fidelity with which he devoted himself to the public service in superin- tendin~ the construction and fitting out of the ironclads, was one of the best c~tlieers of the navy. Lie was an accomplished seaman, full of resources under all circumstances, of unquestioned courage, with that kind of dash and deter- mination which always commands the admiration and confidence of sailors, who are never mistaken in their estimate of the character of an officer who directs their movements. Gregory served as a midshipman under Commodore Chauncey on Lake Ontario in the war of 1812. He was captured on a boat expedition, after a desperate resIstance, by an overwhelming force, in which several of his crew were killed and wounded. In hot pursuit of an English boat about the size of his own, off the harbor of Toronto, then known as Little York, he was surprised by a larger craft, which emit off all chance of escape. The officer in command of the new-coiner, standin~ up in his boat, exclaimed: Weve ~ot you at last, old fellow. The boats were not more than twenty yards apart. Ox ~gory, highly excited, seized a musket from the hands of one 1872.] ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. 43 of his men and took aim at the British officer by way of reply. The sailor knocked up the muzzle of the gun, and the ball flew high up in the air. Further resistance was useless. He surrendered and was taken on board the flag-ship of Sir James Yeo, then lyin~ in the harbor. He was detained there for some time, afterwards being sent to Halifax, and subsequently to England. He remained at Dartmoor prison until the peace of 1814. He used to describe his adventures, previous to his capture. and dunn his imprisonment, with graphic power, his talent at narration being something un- common. A Mr. Bushnell of Saybrook, Connecticut, had invented a sub- marine torpedo of great destructive force, capable of blowing the heaviest ship into the air. There was lying at Kingston a large British frigate, ready to sail and intended to join the fleet of the Commodore off Little York. Commo- dore Chauncey was then at Sacketts Harbor, getting a force in readiness of suf- ficient stren~th to meet the Englishman. Gregory, ohtainin~ the Commo- dores reluctant permission, started for a point opposite Kingston to try the explosive tower of the torpedo on the British frigate. Having everything prepared, he lay concealed on the shore until a few hours before daylight, ~vhen he started on his novel and perilous expedition. Clad in nothing but a flannel shirt and drawers, with cord about his neck of sufficient length to reach across the river, the torpedo b~ing attached to the other end, he plunged in and made for the frigate. The current of the St. Lawrence is pretty strong, but Gregory swam like a duck. Still he was so long in crossin~, that hy the time he had climbed on to the rudder of the ship nd (lrawn his torpedo over, and was gettin~ ready to screw it to the bottom of the frigate, the drum heat to quarters on hoard, she being about to proceed up the lake to join the Com- modore. There was no time for Gregory to prosecute his enterprise, and noth- ing to do but make his way hack to the American side of the river. With the cord still about his neck he quietly slid into the water and swam across. Leisurely pulling the torpedo back again, he remained in concealment until nightfall, when he started for Sacketts Ilarbor. About a mile from that point he discovered the remains of a lime-kiln. By this time he had hecome disgusted with his expedition and determined to have nothin~ more to do with torpe(loes or any other illegitimate weapons of war. So be set off the destructive missile in the lime-kiln, hlowing the thing to pieces with a tremendous noise, greatly to the consternation of the surrounding country. Some time afterwards Gregory captured a British boat in command of a lieutenant with a crew of about a dozen men. Doubling a point on the Can- ada shore, he came unexpectedly upon a British barge of three times the size of his own craft. There was no escape, except by a stratagem. His men pulled with ~1l their mi~ht,. but the barge was r~ pidl.y gaining on him. A thought struck him. Can you swim? said he to the British officer. Yes, but why do you inquire? Im glad of it on your account, for overboard you should have gone any way, swim or no swim; for I am not to be taken prisoner if I can help it. The lieutenant remonstrated a~ainst the barbarity of throwing him into the lake, threatening Gre~ory with all sorts of ven~eance when he should fall into the hands of the British. But all in vain. When the barge was near enough to distinguish the officer, Gre~ory threw him over- board, and then pulling off in a contrary direction made his escape, while the British craft was detained in rescuing him. A few days after Gregorys capture, Commodore Chauncey sent him fifteen golden eagles. The wardroom officers of the ship intimated that they would like to put wings to Brother Jonathans yellow birds, and introduced a gum 44 ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. [JULY, bling game called blind hookey. It was played in this way: The dealer plays against the rest of the party, a~ in vingt-un. The pack is shuffled and cut, and the dealer delivers a card to each player face down, who bets any amount he pleases, the wager being that his card is of a hi~her denomination than the top card of the remainder of the pack in the dealers hand. The cards are then turned to decide the bet. Gregory had a wonderful run of luck, win- nin~ almost constantly, until he had cleaned out the officers of the ship. The army officers in the vicinity tried their hands, with a similar result. Gregory won all the money they had, as well ~as a couple of fine cavalry horses that were staked on the cards. The game then came to an end, the funds of the Englishmen being wholly exhausted, and the Yankee sailor refused to give credit. Determined to have their revenge, they sent to Kingston for a Scotch ma- jor noted for his skill at cards, and who kept himself well supplied with money by his dexterity in all games then in vogue. lie came up with ample funds as was supposed, and full of confidence in his capacity to strip Gregory of his winnings. The game was made up, the major supplying his friends with money to play with; but the contest was to be between himself and Gre~ory. The new-coiner got the deal, and the game began. Gregory had deposited his gains, consisting of gold, silver, and bills of exchange, in a horsemans long boot which hung in his wardroom. The cards were dealt, and Gregory, thrusting his band into the boot, drew out a large sum which he laid down as his bet. The major smiled sardonically and turned his top card, which proved to be a queen. Ah, Mr. Gregory, said he triumphantly, the odds are largely against you. Nothing but an ace or king can save you. You have rather a high card, to be sure, was the answer. Ill give you half my stake, with- out turning my card. No, sir, we play to keep in this game. I am not disposed to surrender any advantage. And so you wont give me any por- tion of my bet, if I acknowledge beat? Not one farthing. This is no childs play. Will you allow me to increase the bet? said Gregory. To any amount you please, replied the major. Gregory plun~ed his hand il]to the boot again, and bringing up a large sum laid it on the table, exclaiming, If I havent got an ace Ill a0ree to be shot. The card was turne(l, and it was an ace, sure enou~h. The m~jors funds were not enough to p y the bet, and be gave Gregory his note Jbr a considerable amount to meet the deficiency, and went back to Kin~ston in disgust. The note xvas never paid. Lieutenant Gregory commanded the Grampus, a twelve-~un schooner, in Coinmodore Porters mosquito fleet, cruising in the Gulf for the suppression of piracy, during President Monroes second term. The rendezvous of the squadron was TllompsQns Island. Lieutenant Ramsay, in the Shark, a vessel of the same size as the Grnmpus, bad been overhauled by the Panchita, a twenty-gun brig, half privateer and half pirate, sailing under the Venezuelan flag. Ramsay surrendered his vessel to the Panchita, but her commander de- clined to~take possession of the Shark, contenting himself with endorsing upon her logbook that on such a day she had struck her fla~, to the Panchita. Rani- say reported the fact to Commodore Porter, who ordered him under arrest and sent him to Washin~ton to be tried by a court-martial. The Grampus was then in port, and Porter directed Gre~ory to proceed at once to sea and take a look at the Panchita. No specific instructions were ~iven him, everything being left to his discretion. The Grampus got under way at once, and in a few hours sail came in sight of the oflending craft. Gre~ory bore down upon her, with his guns double-shotted. Ran~ing up within half musket shot, he 1872.1 ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. 45 stepped upon a gun, trumpet in hand, and ordered his first lieutenant, Ralph \Toorliees, to fire a broadside into her, aimino~ at the water line amidship, if he threw up his trumpet. As he hailed the Panchita, he observed a man in her maintop taking aim at him with a musket. He threw up his trumpet, and at that moment the man in the top fired at him, the ball striking the trumpet. The Grampus delivered the fire of her six guns, knocking a hole in her side large enough to have sunk her in fifteen minutes. A midshipman in the Grampus caught a musket out of the hands of a marine and shot the man ~n the top dead. The Panchita returned the broadside of the Grampus, but in the confusion and alarm did not hit the vessel. She immediately surrendered, and Gregory returned with her to Thompsons Island, where he arrived in the course of a few hours. The vessel was sent to Ch rleston, where she was ordered to be released by a court of admiralty, as an illegal capture. The case was taken to the Supreme Court at Washington, where she was con- demned as a lawful prize. Judge Marshall remarked on the trial that there was no such instance in record of rapid firing as that of the Grampus. lie said it was proven in the court below that the Grampus fired at the flash of the Panchitas gun, purposely confounding tile musket shot with the broad- side, and that the balls of the Grampus took effect first. Congress subsequently passed an act indemnifying Gregory for his expenses iii defending tile. suit. Three or four years after the war of 1812, before the jealousy and bitterness that had been rankling in the minds of Englishmen and Americans ever since its termination had passed away, a frigate of which Gregory was executive officer was lying in the harbor of Rio Janeiro. There were several English men-of-war in port, and tile older officers were careful to prevent collisions between the sailors of the different ships. One fine day the gunners of a British ship of the line and a fri~ate got permission to exercise the great guns by firing at a m~ rk. A large hogshead or other cask was anchored at a suit- able distance, about two miles off, and the frigate and seventy-four were both blazing away at it. some half a dozen shots had been fired by each, and the mark had not been hit. With tile aid of a glass it could he seen that some of the balls Ml near it, while others fell short or struck a long way off. There were a large number of ships in port, and the gunnery practice attracted gen- eral attention, and many sarcastic conln7leuts were made upon the uaskilful firin~ of John Bull. The Yankee sailors were much excited, and their own superior gunnery was loudly asserted. Meantime the firing was continued, and with a similar result. At last one of the experts of the frigate, unable to control himself, implored Mr. Gregory to let him ilave one crack at tile barrel. lie was sternly rebuked and ordered to quarters. The fellow was a long limbed, powerful Vermonter, an old tar, but with muchof his m,other habits and peculiarities han~ing about him. Returning to iliS messmatcs, ile swore witil outl ndish oaths that it was a shame he couldnt give them Britishers a lesson. Presently he inquired of the lieutenant how nluch it wouhl cost for one shot at the cask. Such a flogging as you Ilave long deserved, said Mr. Gre~ory. Anything else, sir? inquired ,Ion.athan, as he turned away. In less than a minute, bang went a long thirty-two, and tile British mark was knocked all to pieces. Mr. Gregory at once ordered the n~an under arrest, and sent him on board the English frigate with a note explainin~ tile matter. There was great excitement on board the ship. Tile Yankee gunner was complimented for the accuracy of ilis shot, tile British sailors were reproached for their clumsy shooting, and the Vermonter returned to ilis vessel filled with greg and witil ten guineas in llis pocket. 46 ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. [JULY, In 1828 Mr. Gregory, then a master commandant, a grade now unknown in the service, but which was an intermediate rank between Post Captain and lieutenant, was ordered to command th Hellas on her voyage to Greece, a frigate presented by the United States to the Greeks, who had revolted against the Mussulman, and were pretending to fight for an independent existence. The sympathy of the civilized world .had been aroused in behalf of the Greeks, and the American people urged our Government to render theni efficient assist- ance. The Administration was not satisfied in respect to the results of the quarrel, and it was difficult to obtain reliable information as to the resources of the country and tbe means of the people to continue the strng~le. Henry R. Storrs, then Chairman of the Naval Committee of the House, suggested to the Secretary of the Navy, Mr. Southard, that Mr. Gregory shduld be instructed to look into the condition of Greece and ascertain whether there was j~eason to expect that the power of Turkey could be successfully resisted. Mr. Southard knew Gregory as a gallant seaman and an accomplished officer, but he had no accurate appreciation of his general ability or his fitness for a task so responsi- ble, requiring the qualities of a statesman for its adequate discharge, and be declined to comply with the request of Mr. Storrs. That gentleman knew Gre~ory well, and being confident that he was fully competent for the under- takin~, represented the case to Mr. Adams, who directed that the suggestion should be acted upon. After delivering the Hellas to the Grecian authorities, Gregory m~ de a careful examination of the condition of the country, the character of the peo- ple, and their means to maintain the contest against their oppressors; and on his return he made an elaborate report, exbibitin~ so much intelligence, re- search, insight, and philosophical knowledge, as to astonish both Mr. Storrs and Mr. Adams. Gre~ory was highly complimented by the President, who pronounced his report a most valuable document, worthy of an experienced and far-sighted statesman. Great events often depend upon circumstances trivial in their nature and of no apparent importance. The fate of a nation may turn upon what is regarded as the merest accident, without significance or effect of any kind. Take the case of Texas, in the crisis of her existence, by way of illustration The battle of San Jacinto had so broken the aggressive power of Mexico that Houston and his gallant associates found themselves in a situation to maintain, tempo- rarily at least, the independence of the young republic. But their resources were limited, the population of the country smull and widely scattered, and the prospect of establishin~ a permanent and self-sustaining government pre- carious and rcmote. The great powers looked with doubt and suspicion upon the stru~gles of a handfub of adventurers. The primary object was to obtain the recognition of the independence of Texas, and the means of defending the country against the invasion of Mexico. General 1-larnilton of South Carolina and Judge Barnby of Kentucky were enga~ed to visit EnAand and solicit her good offices in behalf of the extemporized republic. They were instructed to make the best representation possible of the condition and resources of the country, to request the acknowledgment of its independence, and to apply for a lo n, which her pressing necessities had rendered indispensable. The com- missioners were accomplished and sagacious men, of chivalrous bearing, en- thusiastic believers in the future of Texas, and coiAldent that with timely as- sistance the foundation of an empire might be securely laid. But they were met in London by obstacles apparently insurmountable. 1872.] ANECDOTES OF PUBLIC MEN. 47 Texas was comparatively unknown to the British ministry. The relations of England and Mexico were of a not unfriendly character. The intercourse of the two countries was not extensive or of great commercial importance, bnt Her Majesty had a representative at the city of Mexico, and the usual forms of diplomacy were observed by the two governments. Hence the application of the commissioners smacked of presumption, more especially as they could furnish no satisfactory evidence that Texas had the means of sustaining herself a~ainst her more powerful nei~hbor, from whose tyranny she was but partially emancipated. Still the glowing account given of the resources of the country, and the predictions of her future greatness, created much interest in London. The commissioners were zealous and sanguine. They painted the country as abounding in all the elements of national wealth. They represented her vast capacity for the production of cotton, and set forth the advantages that England might derive from encouraging the infant republic. Great Britain is prover.. bially cautious and reserved, and naturally hesitated about takin~ the initiative in introducing Texas to the family of nations. But Hamilton and Barnby were resolute and persevering, and ministers so far yielded to their persuasions as to send out an agent charged with the re- sponsibility of reporting upon the condition and prospects of the country fter a personal examination. The gentleman selected was a flue da~shing young fellow named Elliot, the younger son of a nobleman, lie had been employed in diplomatic capacity at one of the inferior courts on the Continent, where he had acquitted himself to the satisfaction of the Government. There was an implied promise of the recognition of Texas in case of a favorable report from Elliot; and the commissioners had encouraging assurances of procuring a loan in that contin~ency. They returned elated at their partial success, and the in- tellioence thereof was received with great joy in Texas. General Houston, President of the republic, was one of the most perfect specimens of manly beauty to be seen in the country. He was considerably upward of six feet in height, as straight as an arrow, of symmetrical propor- tions, and as graceful in his movements as a panther. lie had a finely turned head and shoulders, and their easy play was wonderful to behold. I-Ic affected a picturesque and rather theatrical style of costume; but what in an ordinary man would have been foppishness and affectation, his great personal advan- tares rendered natural, proper, and becoming. In anticipation of the visit of Elliot, he had ordered a magnificent velvet robe from New Yorka sort of re- gal garment, that set off his masculine attractions in a splendid manner, but which would have brought ridicule and derision upon almost any other man. It is well known that Houston, although perfectly temperate in the latter part of his life, was at one time addicted to intemperance. He was not an habitual drinker, but occasionally indulged in fearful excesses; and when Elliot arrived in houston, then the capital of Texas, he was in the midst of one of his worst drunken orgies. In fact he was lying in the gutter in a state of helpless intox- ication. But Hamilton and Baruby were equal to the emergency. They re- ceived the envoy with becoming respect, conducting him to the hotel with suit- able ceremony. He was there informed that the President, General Houston, had been unexpectedly called to Washington, ahout a hundred miles up the country, on indispensable business, but would be back in a day or two. Awaiting his retain, they would show the envoy what was to be seen t the capital, and endeavor to make him comfortable. Meantime the General was taken to the house of a friend, bathed, cleansed, and fumigated; and as be had wonderful powers of recuperation, he appeared, renovated and refreshed, in 48 CIIUNDER ALPS WIFE. [JULY. less than twenty-four hours, and mounting his gorgeous velvet robe, gave au- dience to the British envoy, looking like a monarch of the Lower Empire. Th~ effect was electrical. Elliot was carried away by the affability and dignit,y of the President. He could hardly express the admiration with which he was in- spired. Why, gentlemen, said he, addressing the commissioners, I have never seen a man of such commanding, majestic presence. lie puts one at his ease at once. his description of the country was eloquent and impressive, carry- ino~ conviction in every word. I should consider myself faithless to my duty if I did not recommend the immediate recognition of your independence, and I c~n assure you all the money you want as soon as my report is presented. And he performed all he had promised. Texas was acknowledged as an independent nation, and borrowed half a million sterling; and thus the ques~ tion was settled adversely to the pretensions of Mexico. Suppose Elliot had stumbled upon Houston as he lay in the gutter? CHUNDER ALPS WIFE. FROM THE HINDO5TANEE. AM poor, said Chunder Ali, while the Mandarin above him I Frowned in supercilious anger at the dog who dared to speak, I am friendless and a Hindoo: such a one meets few to love him Here in China, where the Hindoo finds the truth alone is weak. I have naught to buy your justice; were I wise I had not striven: Speak your j adgment; and he crossed his arms and bent his quivering face. Heard he then the unjust sentence: all his goods and gold were given To another, and he stood alone, a beggar in the place. And the man who bought the judgment looked with triumph and derision At the cheated Hiudoo merchant; then he rubbed his hands and smiled At the whispered gratulation of his friends and at the vision Of the more than queenly dower foi~ Ahmeer, his only child. Fair Abmeer, who of Gods creatures was the only one who loved him She, the diamond of his treasures, the one lamb within his fold, She whose voice, like her dead mothers, was the only powr that moved him She would praise the skill tbat gained her all this Hindoos silk and gold. And the old man thanked Confucius, and the judge, and him who pleaded. But why falls this sudden silence? why does each one hold his breath? Every eye turns on the Hindon, who before was all unheeded, And in wondring expectation all the court crows still as death. Not alone stood Chunder Ali: by his side Abmeer wa~ standing, And his brown hand rested lightly on her shoulder as he smiled At tIme sweet young face turned toward him. Then the fathers voice, commanding, Bade his daughter fiercely to him from the dog whose touch defiled. But she moved not, and she looked not at her father or the others As she answered, with her eyes upon the hlindoos noble face Nay, my father, he defiles not; this kind arm above all others Is my choosing, and forever by his side shall be my place. When you knew not, his dear hand had given many a sweet love-token, He had gathered all my heartstrings and had bound them round his life; Yet you tell me he defiles me: nay, my father, you have spoken In your anger, and not knowing I was Chunder Alis wife. J. BOYLE OREILLY.

48 CIIUNDER ALPS WIFE. [JULY. less than twenty-four hours, and mounting his gorgeous velvet robe, gave au- dience to the British envoy, looking like a monarch of the Lower Empire. Th~ effect was electrical. Elliot was carried away by the affability and dignit,y of the President. He could hardly express the admiration with which he was in- spired. Why, gentlemen, said he, addressing the commissioners, I have never seen a man of such commanding, majestic presence. lie puts one at his ease at once. his description of the country was eloquent and impressive, carry- ino~ conviction in every word. I should consider myself faithless to my duty if I did not recommend the immediate recognition of your independence, and I c~n assure you all the money you want as soon as my report is presented. And he performed all he had promised. Texas was acknowledged as an independent nation, and borrowed half a million sterling; and thus the ques~ tion was settled adversely to the pretensions of Mexico. Suppose Elliot had stumbled upon Houston as he lay in the gutter? CHUNDER ALPS WIFE. FROM THE HINDO5TANEE. AM poor, said Chunder Ali, while the Mandarin above him I Frowned in supercilious anger at the dog who dared to speak, I am friendless and a Hindoo: such a one meets few to love him Here in China, where the Hindoo finds the truth alone is weak. I have naught to buy your justice; were I wise I had not striven: Speak your j adgment; and he crossed his arms and bent his quivering face. Heard he then the unjust sentence: all his goods and gold were given To another, and he stood alone, a beggar in the place. And the man who bought the judgment looked with triumph and derision At the cheated Hiudoo merchant; then he rubbed his hands and smiled At the whispered gratulation of his friends and at the vision Of the more than queenly dower foi~ Ahmeer, his only child. Fair Abmeer, who of Gods creatures was the only one who loved him She, the diamond of his treasures, the one lamb within his fold, She whose voice, like her dead mothers, was the only powr that moved him She would praise the skill tbat gained her all this Hindoos silk and gold. And the old man thanked Confucius, and the judge, and him who pleaded. But why falls this sudden silence? why does each one hold his breath? Every eye turns on the Hindon, who before was all unheeded, And in wondring expectation all the court crows still as death. Not alone stood Chunder Ali: by his side Abmeer wa~ standing, And his brown hand rested lightly on her shoulder as he smiled At tIme sweet young face turned toward him. Then the fathers voice, commanding, Bade his daughter fiercely to him from the dog whose touch defiled. But she moved not, and she looked not at her father or the others As she answered, with her eyes upon the hlindoos noble face Nay, my father, he defiles not; this kind arm above all others Is my choosing, and forever by his side shall be my place. When you knew not, his dear hand had given many a sweet love-token, He had gathered all my heartstrings and had bound them round his life; Yet you tell me he defiles me: nay, my father, you have spoken In your anger, and not knowing I was Chunder Alis wife. J. BOYLE OREILLY. THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. ChAPTER XLV. THE JOURNEY TO LONDON. ~ THEN we left Lady Eustace alone in her bedroom at the Carlisle hotel after the discovery of the robbery, she had very many cares upon her mind. The necklace was, indeed, safe under her pillow in the bed; but when all the peo- ple were around herher own friends, and the police, and they who were con- cerned with the innshe had not told them that it was so, but had allowed them to leave her with the belief that the diamonds had gone with the box. Even at this moment, as she knew well, steps were being taken to discover the thieves, and to make public the circumstances of the robbery. Already, no doubt, the fact that her chamber had been entered in the night, and her jewel-box withdrawn, was known to the London police o cers. In such circumstances how could she now tell the truth? But it might be that al- ready had the thieves been taken. In that case would not the truth be known, even though she should not tell it? Then she thought for a while that she would get rid of the diamonds altogether, so that no one should know aught of them. If she could only think of a place fit for such purpose, she would so hide them that no human ingenuity could discover them. Let the thieves say what they might, her word would, in such case, be better than that of the thieves. She would declare that the jewels had been in the box when the box w~ s taken. The thieves would swear that the box had been empty. She would appeal to the absence of the dia- monds, and the thieveswho would be known as thieveswould be supposed, even by their own friends and associates, to have disposed of the diamonds before they had been taken. There would be a mystery in all this, and a cunning clever- ness, the idea of which had in itself a cer- tain charm for Lizzie Eustace. She would have all the world at a loss. Mr. Cam- perdown could do nothin~ further to ha- rass her; and would have been, so far, overcome. She would be saved from the feeling of public defeat in the affair of the necklace, which would be very dreadful to her. Lord Fawn might probably be again at her feet. And in all the fuss and rumor which such an affair would make in London, there would be nothing of which she need be ashamed. She liked the idea, and she had grown to be very sick of the necklace. But what should she do with it? It was, at this moment, between her fingers beneath the pillow. If she were minded, and she thought she was so minded, to get rid of it altogether, the sea would be the place. Could she make up her mind absolutely to destroy so large a property, it would be best for her to have recourse to her own broad waves, as she called them even to herself. It was within the friendly depths of her own rock-girt ocean that she should find a grave for her great trouble. But now her back was to the sea, and she could hardly insist on returning to Portray without exciting a suspicion that might be fatal to her. And then might it not be possible to get altogether quit of the diamonds and yet to retain the power of future posses- sion? She knew that she was running into debt, and that money would, some day, be much needed. her acquaintance with Mr. Benjamin, the jeweller, was a fact often present to her mind. She might not be able to get ten thousand pounds from Mr. Benjamin; but if she could get eight, or six, or even five, how ple~ s~ nt would it be! If she could put away the diamonds for three or four years, if she could so hide them that no human eyes could see them till she should a~ in pmduce them to the light, surely, after so long an interval, they might be made available! But where should be found such hiding-place? She under- stood well how greal was the peril while the necklace was in her own immediate keeping. Any accident might discover it, and if the slightest suspicion were aroused, the police would come upon her with violence and discover it. But surely

THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. ChAPTER XLV. THE JOURNEY TO LONDON. ~ THEN we left Lady Eustace alone in her bedroom at the Carlisle hotel after the discovery of the robbery, she had very many cares upon her mind. The necklace was, indeed, safe under her pillow in the bed; but when all the peo- ple were around herher own friends, and the police, and they who were con- cerned with the innshe had not told them that it was so, but had allowed them to leave her with the belief that the diamonds had gone with the box. Even at this moment, as she knew well, steps were being taken to discover the thieves, and to make public the circumstances of the robbery. Already, no doubt, the fact that her chamber had been entered in the night, and her jewel-box withdrawn, was known to the London police o cers. In such circumstances how could she now tell the truth? But it might be that al- ready had the thieves been taken. In that case would not the truth be known, even though she should not tell it? Then she thought for a while that she would get rid of the diamonds altogether, so that no one should know aught of them. If she could only think of a place fit for such purpose, she would so hide them that no human ingenuity could discover them. Let the thieves say what they might, her word would, in such case, be better than that of the thieves. She would declare that the jewels had been in the box when the box w~ s taken. The thieves would swear that the box had been empty. She would appeal to the absence of the dia- monds, and the thieveswho would be known as thieveswould be supposed, even by their own friends and associates, to have disposed of the diamonds before they had been taken. There would be a mystery in all this, and a cunning clever- ness, the idea of which had in itself a cer- tain charm for Lizzie Eustace. She would have all the world at a loss. Mr. Cam- perdown could do nothin~ further to ha- rass her; and would have been, so far, overcome. She would be saved from the feeling of public defeat in the affair of the necklace, which would be very dreadful to her. Lord Fawn might probably be again at her feet. And in all the fuss and rumor which such an affair would make in London, there would be nothing of which she need be ashamed. She liked the idea, and she had grown to be very sick of the necklace. But what should she do with it? It was, at this moment, between her fingers beneath the pillow. If she were minded, and she thought she was so minded, to get rid of it altogether, the sea would be the place. Could she make up her mind absolutely to destroy so large a property, it would be best for her to have recourse to her own broad waves, as she called them even to herself. It was within the friendly depths of her own rock-girt ocean that she should find a grave for her great trouble. But now her back was to the sea, and she could hardly insist on returning to Portray without exciting a suspicion that might be fatal to her. And then might it not be possible to get altogether quit of the diamonds and yet to retain the power of future posses- sion? She knew that she was running into debt, and that money would, some day, be much needed. her acquaintance with Mr. Benjamin, the jeweller, was a fact often present to her mind. She might not be able to get ten thousand pounds from Mr. Benjamin; but if she could get eight, or six, or even five, how ple~ s~ nt would it be! If she could put away the diamonds for three or four years, if she could so hide them that no human eyes could see them till she should a~ in pmduce them to the light, surely, after so long an interval, they might be made available! But where should be found such hiding-place? She under- stood well how greal was the peril while the necklace was in her own immediate keeping. Any accident might discover it, and if the slightest suspicion were aroused, the police would come upon her with violence and discover it. But surely 60 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. [JULY, there must be some such hiding-place, if only she could think of it! Then her mind reverted to all the stories she had ever heard of mysterious villanies. There must be some way of accomplishing this thing, if she could only bring her mind to work upon it exclusively. A hole dug deep into the ground; would not that be the place? But then, where should the hole be dug? In what spot should she trust the earth? If anywhere, it must be at Portray. But now she was going from Portray to London. It seemed to her to be certain that she could die, no hole in London that would be secret to herself. Nor could she trust herself, during the hour or two that remained to her, to find such a hole in Carlisle. What she wanted was a friend; some one that she could trust. But she had no such friend. She could not dare to give the jewels up to Lord George. So tempted, would not any Corsair appropriate the treasure? And if; as might be possible, she were mistaken about him and he was no Corsair, then would he betray her to the police. She thought of all her dearest friends, Frank Greystuck, Mrs. Carbuncle, Lucinda, Miss Macnulty. even of Pa- tience Crabstick, but there was no friend whom she could trust. Whatever she did she must do alone! She began to fear that the load of thought required would be more than she could hear. One thing, however, was. certain to her: she could not now venture to tell them all that the necklace was in her possession, and that the stolen box had been empty. Thinking of all this, she went to sleep, still holding the packet ti,,ht between her fin~ers, and in this position was awakened at about ten by a knock at the door from her friend Mrs. Carbuncle. Lizzie jump- ed out of bed, and admitted her friend, admitting also Patience Crabstick. You had better get up now, dear, said Mrs. Carbuncle. We are all going to break- fast. Lizzie declared herself to be so fluttered that she must have her break- fast up stairs. No one was to wait for her. Crabstick would go down and fetch for her a cup of tea, and just a morsel of something to eat. You cant be sur- prised that I shouldnt be quite myself said Lizzie. Mrs. Carbuncles surprise did not run at all in that direction. Both Mrs. Car- buncle and Lord George had been aston ished to find how well she bore her loss. Lord George gave her credit for real bravery. Mrs. Carbuncle suggested, in a whisper, that perhaps she regarded the theft as an easy way out of a lawsuit. I suppose you know, George, they would have got it from her. Then Lord George whistled, and, in another whisper, declared that, if the little adventure had all been arranged by Lady Eustace herself with the view of getting the better of Mr. Camperdown, his respect for that lady would be very greatly raised. If, said Lord George, it turns out that she has had a couple of bravos in her pay, like an old Italian marquis, I shall think very highly of her indeed. This had occurred before Mrs. Carbuncle came up to Lizzies room ; but neither of them for a mom nt suspected that the necklace was still within the hotel. The box had been found, and a portion of the fragments were brou~,ht into the room bile the party were still at break- fast. Lizzie~was not in the room, but the news was at once taken up to her by Crabstick, together with a pheasants wing and so~ae buttered toast. Iu a re- cess beneath an archway running under the railroad, not distant from the hotel above a hundred and fifty yards, the iron box had been found. it had been forced open, so said the sergeant of police, with tools of the finest steel, peculiarly made for such purpose. The sergeant of police was quite sure that the thing had been done by London men who were at the very top of their trade. It was manifest that nothing had been spared. Every mo- tion of the party must have been known to them, and probably one of the adven- turers had travelled in the same train with them. And the very doors of the bedroom in the hotel had been measured by the man who had cut out the bolt. The sergeant of police was almost lost in admiration; but the superintendent of police, whom Lord George saw more than once, was discreet and silent. To the superintendent of police it was by no means sure that Lord George himself might not be fond of diamonds. Of a suspicion flying so delightfully high as this, he breathed no word to any one; but simply sugge~ted that he should like to retain the companionship of one of the party. If Lady Eustace could dispense with the services of the tall footman, the V 1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. tall footman might be found useful at Carlisle. It was arranged, therefore, that the tall footman should remain; and the tall footman did remain, though not with his own consent. The whole party, including Lady Ens- tace herself and Patience Crabstick, were called upon to give their evidence to the Carlisle magistrates before they could proceed to London. This Lizzie did, hav- ing the necklace at that moment locked up in her desk at the inn. The diamonds were supposed to be worth ten thousand pounds. There was to be a lawsuit about them. She did not for a moment doubt that they were her property. She had been very careful abo/ut the diamonds because of the lawsuit. Fearing that Mr. Camperdown might wrest them from her possession, she had caused the iron box to be made. She had last seen the diamonds on the evening before her de- parture from Portray. She had then her- self locked them up, and she now pro- duced the key. The lock was still so far uninjured that the key would turn it. That was her evidence. Crabstick, with a good deal of reticence, supported her mistress. She had seen the diamonds, no doubt, but had not seen them often. She had seen them down at Portray, hut not for ever so lon~. Crabstick had very lit- tle to say about them; but the clever superintendent was by no means sure that Crabstick did not know more than she said. Mrs. Carbuncle and Lord George had also seen the diamonds at Portray. There was no douht whatever as to the diamonds having been in the iron box; nor was there, said Lord George, any doubt hut that this special necklace had acquired so much public notice from the fact of the threatened lawsuit, as might make its circumstances and value known to London thieves. The tall footman was not examined, but was detained by the police under a remand given by the mag- istrates. Much information as to what had been done oozed out in spite of the precautions of the discreet superintendent. The wires had been put into operation in every di- rection, and it had been discovered that one man whom nobody knew had left the down mail train at Annan, and another at Dumfries. These men had taken tickets by the train leaving Carlisle betwoen four and five A.M., and were supposed to have been the two thieves. It bad been nearly seven before the theft had been discovered, and by that time not only had the men reached the towns named, but had had time to make tLeir way back again or further on into Scotland. At any rate, for the present, all trace of them was lost. The sergeant of police did not doubt but that one of these men was making his way up to London with the necklace in his pocket. This was told to Lizzie by Lord George; and though she was awe-struck by the dander of her situation, she nevertheless did feel some satisfaction in remembering that she and she only held the key of the mystery. And then as to those poor thieves! What must have been their consternation when they found, after all the labor and perils of the night, that the box contained no diamondsthat the trea- sure was not there, and that they were nevertheless bound to save themselves by flight and stratagem from the hands of the police! Lizzie, as she thought of this, almost pitied the poor thieves. What a consternation there would be among the Camperdowns and Garnetts, among the Mopuses and Benjamins, when the news was heard in London. Lizzie almost en- joyed it. As her mind went on making fresh schemes on the subject, a morbid desire of increasing the mystery took pos- session of her. She was quite sure that nobody knew her secret, and that nobody as yet could even guess it. There was great danger, but there might be delight and even prdflt if she could safely dispose of the jewels before suspicion %ainst her- self should be aroused. She could under- stand that a rumor should get to the po- lice that the box bad been empty, even if the thieves were not taken; but such rumor would avail nothing if she could only dispose of the diamonds. As she first thought of all this, the only plan hitherto suggested to herself would re- quire her immediate return to Portray. If she were at Portray she could find a spot in which she could bury~ the neck- lace. But she was obliged to allow her- self now to be hurried up to London. When she got into the train the little par- cel was in her desk, and the key of her desk was fastened round her neck. They had secured a department for themselves from Carlisle to London, and of course filled four seats. As I am alive, said Lord George as soon as the train had 62 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. [JULY, left the station, that head policeman thinks that I am the thief. Mrs. Car- buncle laughed. Lizzie protested that this was absurd. Lucinda declared that such a suspicion would be vastly amusing. Its a fkct, continued Lord George. I can see it in the fellows eye, and I feel it to he a compliment. They are so very cute that they delight in suspicions. I remember when the altar-plate was stolen from Barchester cathedral some years ago, a splendid idea occurred to one of the police that the bishop had taken it. Really? asked Lizzie. Oh, yesreally. I dont doubt bnt that there is already a belief in some of their minds that you have stolen your owu diauonds for the sake of getting the hetter of Mr. Camperdown. But what could I do with them if I had? asked Lizzie. Sell them, of course. There is always a market for such goods. But who would buy them? If you have been so clever, Lady Eu- stace, Ill find a purchaser for them. One would have to go a good distance to do it and there would he soi e expense. But the thing could be done. Vienna, 1 should think, would be about the place. Very well, then, said Lizzie. You wont be surprised if I ask you to take the journey for me. Then they all laughed, and were very much amused. It was quite agreed among them that Liz- zie bore her loss very well. I shouldnt care the least for losing them, said Lizzie, only that Florian gave them to me. They have been such a vexation to me that to be without them will be a comfort. TIer desk had been brought into the carriage, and was now used as a foot-stool in place of the box which was gone. They arrived at Mrs. Carbuncles house in Hertlord street quite late, between ten and eleven; but a note had been sent from Lizzie to her cousin Franks address from the Euston Square station by a commis- sionnaire. Indeed, two notes were sent one to the House of Commons, and the other to the Grosvenor Hotel. My necklace has been stolen. Come to me early to-morrow at Mrs. Carbuncles house, No. Ilertford street. And he did come, before I~izzi~ was up. Crab- stick brought her mistress word that Mr. Greystock was in the parlor soon after nine o clock. Lizzie again hurried on her clothes so that she might see her cousin, taking care as she did, so that though her toilet might betray haste, it should not be other than charming. And as she dressed she endeavored to come to some conclusion. Would it not be best for her that she should tell everything to her cou- sin, and throw herself upon his mercy, trusting to his ingenuity to extricate her from her difficulties? She had been think- ing of her position almost through the en- tire night, and had remembered that at Carlisle she had committed perjury. She had sworn that the diamonds had been left by her in the box. And should they be found with her, it might be that they would put her in jail for stealing them. Little mercy could she expect from Mr. Camperdown should she fall into that gentlemans hands! But Frank, if she would even yet tell him everything hon- estly, might probably save her. What is this about tIme diamonds? be asked as soon as he s~ w her. She had flown almost into his arms as though car- ried there by the excitement of the mo- ment. You dont reallymean that they have been stolen? Ido, Frank. On the journey? Yes, Frankat the inn at Carlisle. Box and all? Then she told him the whole storynot the true story, but the story as it wa believed by all the world. She found it to be impossible to tell him the true sto~y. And the box was broken open, and left in the street? Under an archway, said Lizzie. And what do the police think? I dont know what they think. Lord George says that they believe he is the thief. He knew of them , said Frank, as though he imagined that the suggestion was not altogether absurd. Ohm, yeshe knew of them. And what is to be done? I dont know. Ive sent for you to tell me. Then Frank averred that informa- tion should be immediately given to Mr. Camperdown. He would himself call on Mr. Camperdown, and would also see the bead of the London police, lie did not doubt but that all the circumstances were already known in London at the police office; but it might be well that he should 1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 53 see the officer. lie was acquainted with the gentleman, and might perhaps learn something. Lizzie at once acceded, and Frank went direct to Mr. Camperdowns offices. If I had lost ten thousand pounds in that way, said Mrs. Carbun- cle, I think I should have broken my heart. Lizzie felt that her heart was bursting rather than being broken, be- cause the ten thousand pounds worth of diamonds was not really lost. CHAPTER XLY1. Lucy MoRRIS IN BROOK STaEET. Lucy MORRIS went to Lady Linlithgow early in October, and was still with Lady Linlithgow when Lizzie Eustace returned to London in January. During these three months she certainly had not been happy. In the first place, she had not once seen her lover. This had aroused no anger or suspicion in her bosom against him, because the old countess had told her that she would have no lover come to the house, and that, above all, she would not allow a young man with whom she her- self was connected to come in that guise to her companion. From all I hear, said Lady Linlithgow, its not at all likely to be a match; and at any rate it cant go on here. Lucy thought that she would be doing no more than stand- ing up properly for her lover by asserting her conviction that it would be a match; and she did assert it bravely; but she made no petition for his presence, and bore that trouble bravely. In the next place, Frank was not a satisfactory corre- spondent. He did write to her occasion- ally;. and he wrote also to the old countess immediately on his return to town from Bobsborough a letter which was intended as an answer to that which she had writ- ten to Mrs. Greystock. What w said in that letter Lucy never knew; b~rt she did know that Franks few letters to herself were not full and heartywere not such thoroiI~h-going love-letters as lovers write to each other when they feel unlim- ited satisfaction in the work. She excus- ed him, telling herself that he was over- worked, that with his double trade of kgislator and lawyer he could hardly be expected to write letters, that men, in re- spect of letter-writing, are not as women are, ahd the like; but still there grew at 4 her heart a little weed of care, which from week to week spread its noxious, heavy- scented leaves, and robbed her of her joy- ousness. To be loved by her lover, and to feel that she was his, to have a lover of her own to whom she could thoroughly devote herself, to be conscious that she was one of those happy women in the world who find a mate worthy of worship as well as lovethis to her was so great a joy that even the sadness of her present position could not utterly depress her. From day to day she assured herself that she did not doubt and would not doubt that there was no cause for doubt; that she would herself be base were she to admit any shadow of suspicion. But yet his absence, and the shortness of those little notes, which came perhaps once a fortnight, did tell upon her in opposition to her own convictions. Each note as it came was answered-instantly; but she would not write except when the notes came. She would not seem to reprQach him by writing oftener than he wrote. When he had given her so much, and she had nothing but her confidence to give in return, would she stint him in that? There can be no love, she said, without confidence, and it was the pride of her heart to love him. The circumstances of her present life were desperately weary to her. She could hardly understand why it was that Lady Linlithgow should desire her presence. She was required to do nothing. She had no duties to perform, and, as it seemed to her, was of no use to any one. The countess would not even allow her to be of ordinary service in the house. Lady Linlithgow, as she had said of herself; poked her own fires, carved her own meat, lit her own candles, opened and shut the doors for herself, wrote her own letters, and did not even like to have books read to her. She simply chose to have some one sitting with her to whom she could speak and make little cross-grained, sar- castic, and ill-natured remarks. There was no company at the house in Brook street, and when the countess h6rself went out, she went out alone. Even when she had a cab to go shopping, or to make calls, she rarely asked Lucy to ~o with her; and was benevolent chiefly in thisthat if Lucy chose to walk round the square or as far as the park, her ladyships maid was allowed to accompany her for protec THE EUSTACE 1I~IAMONDS. [JULY, tion. Poor Lucy often told herself that tion. And now, my dear, what about such a life would be unbearable, were it Mr. Greystock? not for the supreme satisfaction she had in Oh, I dont know; nothing particular, remembering her lover. And then the Lady Fawn. Its just as it was, and I arrangement had been made only for six amquite satisfied. months. She did not feel quite assured You see him sometimes. of her fate at the end of those six months, No, never. I have not seen him since l)ut she believed that there would come to the last tinie he came down to Richmond. her a residence in a sort of outer garden Lady Linlithgow doesnt allowfollow- to that sweet Elysium in which she was to ers. There was a pleasant little spark pass her life. The Elysium would be of laughter in Lucys eye as she said this, Franks house; and the outer garden was which would have told to any bystander the deanery at Bobsborough. the whole story of the affection which ex- Twice during the three months Lady isted between her and Lady Fawn. Fawn, with two of the girls, came to call Thats very ill-natured, said Lydia. upon her. On the first occasion she was And hes a sort of cousin, too, said unluckily out, taking advanta~e of the Lady Fawn. protection of her ladyships maid in get- Thats just the reason why, said ting a little air. Lady Linlithgow had Lucy, explaining. Of course Lady Lin- also been away, and Lady Fawn had seen lithgow thinks that her sisters nephew no one. Afterwards, both Lucy and her can do better than marry her companion. ladyship were found at home, and Lady Its a matter of course she should think Fawn was full of graciousness and affec- so. What I am most afraid of is that the tioi~. I dare say youve got something dean and Mrs. Greystock should think so to say to each other, said Lady Linlith- too. gow, and Ill go away. No doubt the dean and Mrs. Greystock Pray dont let us disturb you, said would think so. Lady Fawn was very Lady Fawn. sure of that. Lady Fawn was one of the Youd only abuse me if I didnt, best women breathing, unselfish, mother- said Lady Linlithgow. ly, affectionate, appreciative, and never As soon as she was gone Lucy rushed happy unless she was doing good to some- into her friends arms. It is so nice to body. It was her nature to be soft, and see you again ! kind, and beneficent. But she knew very t Yes, my dear, isnt it? I did come well that if she had had a son, a second before, you know. son, situated as was Frank Greystock, she You have been so good to me! To would not wish him to marry a girl with- see you again is like the violets and prim- out a penny, who was forced to earn her roses. She was crouching close to Lady bread by being a governess. The sacrifice Fawn, with her hand in that of her friend on Mr. Greystocks part would, in her es- Lydia. I havent a word to say against timation, be so great, that she did not be- Lady Linlithgow, but it is like winter lieve that it would be made. Woman- here, after dear Richmond. like, she regarded the man as being so Well, we think were prettier at much more important than the woman Richmond, said Lady Fawn. that she could not think that Frank Grey- There were such hundreds of things stock would devote himself simply to such to do there, said Lucy. After all, a one as Lucy Morris. Had Lady Fawn what a comfort it is to have things to been asked which was the better creature do. of the two, her late governess or the rising Why did you comae away? said barrister who had declared himself to be Lydia. - that governesss lover, she would have Oh, I was obliged. You mustnt said that no man could be better than scold me now that you have come to see Lucy. She knew Lucys worth and good- me. ness so well that she was ready herself to There were a hundred things to be said do any act of friendship on behalf of one about Fawn Court and the children, and a so sweet and excellent. For herself and hundred more things about Lady Linlith- her girls Lucy was a companion and friend gow and Bruton street. Then, at last, in every way satisfactory. But was it Lady Fawn asked the one important ques- probable that a man of the world, such as V 66 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 1872.] was Frank Greystock, a rising man, a member of Parliament, one who, as every- body knew, was especially in want of moneywas it probable that such a man as this would make her his wife just because she was good, and worthy, and sweet- natured? No doubt the man had said that he would do so, and Lady Fawns fears be- trayed on her ladyships part a very bad opinion of men in general. It may seem to be a paradox to assert that such bad opinion sprung from the high idea which ~he entertained of the importance of men in general; but it was so. She had but one son, and of all her children he was the least worthy; but he was more important to her than all her dau,,,hters. Between her own girls and Lucy she hardly made any difference; but when her son had chosen to quarrel with Lucy, it had been necessary to send Lucy to eat her meals up stairs. She could not believ& that Mr. Ureystock should think so much of such a little girl as to marry her. Mr. Grey- stock would no doubt behave very badly in not doing so; but then men do so often behave very badly! And at the bottom of her heart she almost thought that they might be excused for doing so. Accord- ing to her view of things, a man out in the world had so many things to think of, and was so very important, that he could ~ ardly be expected to act at all times with ruth and sincerity. Lucy had suggested that the dean and Mrs. Greystock would dislike the marriage, and upon that hint Lady Fawn spoke. Nothing is settled, I suppose, as to where you are to go when the six months are over? Nothing as yet, Lady Fawn. They havent asked you to go to Bobs- borough?~ Lucy would have given the world not to blush as she answered, but she did blush. Nothing is fixed, Lady Fawn. Something should be fixed, Lucy. It should be settled by this time, shouldnt it, dear? What will you do without a home, if at the end of the six months Lady Linlithgow should say that she doesnt want you any more? Lucy certainly did not look forward to a condition in which Lady Linlithgow should be the arbitress of her destiny. The idea of staying with the countess was almost as bad to her as that of finding herself alto- gether homeless. She was still blushing, feeling herself to be hot and embarrassed. But Lady Fawn sat waiting for an answer. To Lucy there wns only one answer possi- ble. I will ask Mr. Greystock what I am to do. Lady Fawn shook her head. You dont believe in Mr. Greystock, Lady Fawn; butldo. My darling girl, said her ladyship, making the special speech for the sake of making which she had travelled up from Richmond, it is not exactly a question of belief, but one of common prudence. No girl should allow herself to depend on a man before she is married ,to him. By doin,, so she will be apt to lose even his respect. I didnt mean for money, said Lucy, hotter than ever, with her eyes full of tears. She should not be in any respect at his disposal till he has boi~nd himself to her at the altar. You may believe me, Lucy, when I tell you so. It is only be- cause I love you so that I say so. I know that, Lady Fawn. When your time here is over, just put up your things and come back to Rich- mond. You need fear nothing with us. Frederic quite liked your way of parting with him at last, and all that little affair is forgotten. At Fawn Court youll be safe; and you shall be happy, too, if we can make you happy. Its the proper place for you. ~Of course youll come, said Diana Fawn. ~Youll be the worst little thing in the world if you dont, said Lydia. We dont know what to do without you. Do we, mamma? Lucy will please us all by coining back to her old home, said Lady Fawn. The tears were now streaming down Lucys face, so that she was hardly able to say a word in answer to all this kind- ness. And she did not know what word to say. Were she te accept the offer made to her, and acknowledge that she could do nothin~ better than creep back under her old friends wing, would sbe not thereby be showin~, that she doubted her lover? But she could not go to the deans house unless the dean and his wife were pleased to take her; and, suspecting as she did that they would not be pleased, would it become her to throw upon her lover the burden of finding for her a home with people who did not want her? had she 56 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. [JULY, been welcome at Bobsborough, Mrs. Grey- stock would surely have so told her before this. You neednt say a word, my dear, said Lady Fawn. Youll come, and theres an end of it. But you dont want me any more, said Lucy from amid her sobs. Thats just all that you know about it, said Lydia. We do want you more than anything. I wonder whether I may come in now, said Lady Linlithgow, entering the room. As it was the~ countesss own drawing-room, as it was now midwinter, and as the fire in the dining-room had been allowed, as was usual, to sink al- most to two hot coals, the request was not unreasonable. Lady Fawn was profuse in her thanks, and immediately began to ac- count for Lucys tears, pleading their dear friendship and their long qbsence, and poor Lucys emotional state of mind. Then she took her leave, and Lucy, as soon as she had been kissed by her friends outside the drawing-room door, took her- self to her bedroom and finished her tears in the cold. Have you heard the news? said Lady Lunlithgow to her companion about a month after this. Lady Linlithgow had been out, and asked the question immedi- ately on her return. Lucy, of course, had heard no news. Lizzie Eustace has just come back to London, and has had all her jewels stolen on the road. The diamonds? asked Lucy with amaze. Yes, the Eustace diamonds! And they didnt belong to her any more than they did to you. Theyve been taken any way, and from what I hear I shouldnt be at all surprised if she had arran~ed the whole matter herself. Arranged that they should be stolen ? Just that, my dear. It would be the very thing for Lizzie Eustace to do. Shes clever enough for anything. But, Lady Linlithgow I know all about that. Of course it would be very wicked, and if it were found out shed be put in the dock and tried for her life. It is just what I ex- pect shell come to some of these days. She has gone and got up a fricndship with some disreputable people, and was travel- ling with them. There was a man who calls himself Lord George de Bruce Car- ruthers. I know him, and can remember when he was errand boy to a disreputable lawyer at Aberdeen. This assertion was a falsehood on the part of the countess Lord George had never been an errand boy, and the Aberdeen lawyeras pro- vincial Scotch lawyers gohad been by no means disreputable. Im told that the police think that he has ~t them. How very dreadful! Yes; its dreadful enough. At. any rate, men got into Lizzies room at nigh& and took away the iron box and diamonds and all. It may be she was asleep at the time; but shes one of those who pretty nearly always sleep with one eye open. She cant be so bad as that, Lady Liii.. lithgow. Perhaps not. We shall see. They had just begun a lawsuit about the dia- monds, to get them back. And then all at once theyre stolen. It looks what the men callfishy. Im told that all the po- lice in L6ndon are up about it. On the very next day who should come to Brook street but Lizzie Eustace her- self. She and her aunt had quarrelled, and they hated each other; but the old woman. had called upon Lizzie, advising her, as the reader will perhaps remember, to give up the diamonds, and now Lizzie returned the visit. So youre here, in- stalled in poor Macnultys place, began Lizzie to her old friend, the countess at the moment being out of the room. I am staying with your aunt for a few months as her companion. Is it true, Lizzie, that all your diamonds have been stolen? Lizzie gave an account of the robbery, true in every respect except in regard to the contents of the box. Poor Lizzie had been wronged in that matter by the countess, for the robbery had been quite genuine. The man had opened her room and taken her box, and she had slept through it all. And then the broken box had been found, and was in the hands off the police, andwas evidence of the fact. People seem to think it possible, said Lizzie, ~that Mr. Camperdown the law- yer arranged it all. As this suggestion was being made, Lady Lunlithgow came in, and then Lizzie repeated the whole st~ry of the robbery. Though the aunt and niece were open and declared enemies~ the present circumstances were so pecu- liar and full of interest, that conversation for a time almost amicable took place be- tween them. As the diamonds were ~ I 1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 57 valuable, I thought it right, Aunt Susan- na, to come and tell you myself. Its very good of you, but Id heard it already. 1 was telling Miss Morris yes- terday what very odd things there are be- ing said about it. Werent you very much frightened? asked Lucy. You see, my child, I knew nothing about it till it was all over. The man cut the bit out of the door in the most beauti- ful way, without my ever hearing the least sound of the saw. And you that sleep so light, said the countess. They say that perhaps something was put into the wine at dinner to make me sleep. Ah ! ejaculated the countess, who did not for a moment give up her own er- roneous suspicion; very likely. And they do say these people can do things without making the slightest tittle of noise. At any rate the box was gone. And the diamonds? asked Lucy. Oh yes, of course. And now there is such a fuss about it! The police keep on coming to me almost every day. And what do the police think? ask- ed Lady Linlithgow. I am told that they have their suspicions. No doubt they have their suspicions, said Lizzie. You travelled up with friends, 1 su,p- pose. Oh yes, with Lord George de Bruce Carruthers; and with Mrs. Carbuncle, who is my particular friend, and with Lu- cinda Roanoke, who is just going to be married to Sir Griffin Tewett. We were quite a large party. And Macnulty? No. I left Miss Macnulty at Portray with my darling. They thought he had better remain a little longer in Scotland. Ah, yes; perhaps Lord George de Bruce Carruthers does not care for babies. I can easily believe that. I wish Macnul- ly had been with you. Why do you wish that? said Lizzie, who already was beginning to feel that the countess intended, as usual, to make herself disagreeable. Shes a stupid, dull, pig-headed crea- ture; but one can believe what she says. And dont you helievg what I say? demanded Lizzie. Its all true, no doubt, that the dia- monds are gone. Indeed it is. Bat I dont know much about Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. lies the brother of a marquis, any- way, said Lizzie; who thought that she might thus best answer the mother of Scotch earl. I remember when he was plain George Carruthers, running about the streets of Aberdeen, and it was well with him when his shoes werent broken at the toes and down at heel. He earned his bread then, such as it was. Nobody knows how he gets it now. Why does he call himself de Bruce, I wonder? Because his godfathers and godmoth- ers gave him that name when he was made a child of Christ, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven, said Lizzie, ever so pertly. I dont believe a bit of it. I wasnt there to see, Aunt Susanna; and therefore I cant swear to it. Thats his name in all the peerages, and I sup- pose they ought to know. And what does Lord George de Bruce say about the diamonds? Now it had come to pass that Lady Bus- tac~ herself did not feel altogether sure that Lord George had not had a hand in this robbery. It would have been a trick worthy of a genuine Corsair, to arrange and carry out such a scheme for the ap- ~ropriation of so rich a spoil. A watch or a brooch would, of course, be beneath the notice of a good genuine Corsairof a Corsair who was written down in the peerage as a marquiss brother; but dia- monds worth ten thousand pounds are not to be had every day. A Corsair must live, and if not by plunder rich as that, how then? If Lord George had con- co~ted this little scheme, he would natu- rally be ignorant of the true event of the robbery till he should meet the humble executors of his design, and would, as Lizzie thou~ht, have remained unaware of the truth till his arrival in London. That he had been ignorant of the truth during the journey was evident to her. But they had now been three days in Lon- don, during which she had seen him once. At that interview he had been sullen and almost cross, and had said next to nothing about the robbery. He made but one re- mark about it. I have told the chief THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. [JULY. man here, he said, that I shall be When I heard that she was engaged t~ ready to give any evidence in my power that prig, Lord Fawn, I had some hopes. when called upon. Till then I shall take that she might he kept out of harm. no further steps in the matter. I have Thats all over, of course. When he been asked questions that should not have heard about the necklace he wasnt going been asked. In saying this he had used to put his neck into that scrape. But a tone which prevented further conversa- now shes getting among such a set that tion on the subject, but Lizzie, as she nothing can save her. She has taken to thought of it all, remembered his jocular hunting, and rjdes about the country like remark, made in the railway carriage, as a mad woman. to the suspicion which had already l)eeu A great many ladies hunt, said expressed on the matter in regard to him- Lucy. self. If he had been the perpetrator, and And shes got hold of this Lord had then found that he had only stolen Geor~e, and of that horrid American the box, how wonderful would be the woman that nobody knows anything mystery! lie hasnt got anything to about. Theyve ~ot the diamonds between say, replied Lizzie to the question of the them, I dont doubt. Ill bet you six- countess. pence that the police find out all about it, And who is your Mrs. Carbuncle? and that there is some terrible scandal. asked the old woman. The diamonds were no more hers than A particular friend of mine with they were mine, and shell be made to pay whom Jam staying at present. You dont for them. go about a great deal, Aunt Linlithgow, The necklace, the meanwhile, was still but surely you must have met Mrs. Car- locked up in Lizzies deskwith a patent buncle. Bramab keyin Mrs. Carbuncles house, Im an ignorant old woman, no doubt. and were a terrible trouble to our un- My dear, Im not at all surprised at your happy friend. losing your diamonds. The pity is that they werent your own.~~ They were my own. CHAPTER XLVII. The loss will fall on you, no doubt, MATCHING PRiOHY. because the Eustace people will make you BEFORE the end of January everybody pay for them. Youll have to give up in London had heard of the great rob- half your jointure for your life. Thats bery at Carlisle; and most people had what it will come to. To think of your heard also that there was something very travelling about with those things in a peculiar in the mattersomething more box! than a robbery. Various rumors were They were my own, and I had a right afloat. It had become widely known that to do what I liked with them. Nobody the diamonds were to be the subject of accuses you of taking them. litigation between the young widow and Thats quite true. Nobody will ac- the trustees of the Eustace estate; and it cuse me. I suppose Lord George has left was known also that Lord Fawn had en- England for the benefit of his health. It gaged himself to marry the widow, and would not at all surprise me if I were to had then retreated from his engagement hear that Mrs. CarbumAe had followed simply on account of this litigation. him; not in the least. There were strong parties formed in the Youre just like yourself, Aunt Sn- matter; whom we may call Lizzieites and sanna, said Lizzie, getting up and tak- Antilizzieites. The Lizzieites were of ing her leave. Good-by, Lucy. I hope opinion that poor Lady Eustace was being youre happy and comfortable here. Do very ill-treatedthat the diamonds did you ever see a certain friend of ours probably belong to her, and that Lord now? Fawn, at any rate, clearly ought to be If you mean Mr. Greystock, I havent her own. It was worthy of remark that seen him since I left Fawn Court, said these Lizzieites were all of them Con- Lucy, with dignity. servatives. Frank Greystock had prob- When Lizzie was gone Lady Linlithgow ably set the party on foot; and it was spoke her mind freely about her niece. natural that political opponents should Lizzie Eustace wont come to any good. believe that a noble young Under-Secre 1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 69 tary of State on the liberal sidesuch as Lord Fawnhad misbehaved himself. When the matter at last became of such importance a~ to demand leading articles in the newspapers, those journals which had devoted themselves to upholding the conservative politicians of the day were very heavy indeed upon Lord Fawn. The whole force of the Government, however, was Antilizzieite; and as the controversy advanced every good Liberal became aware that there was nothing so wicked, so rapacious, so bold, or so cunning but that Lady Eustace might have done it, or caused it to be done, without delay, with- out difficulty, and without scruple. Lady Glencora Palliser for a while endeavored to det~nd Lizzie in liberal circlesfro]n generosity rather than from any real be- lief; and instigated, perhaps, by a feeling that any woman in society who was ca- pable of doing anything extraordinary ou~ht to be defended. But even Lady Glencora was forced to abandon her geIl- ero~ity, and to confess, on behalf of her party, that Lizzie Eustace wasa very wicked young woman indeed. All this, no doubt, grew out of the diamonds, and chiefly arose from the robbery; but there had been enough of notoriety attached to Lizzie before the afihir at Carlisle to make people fancy that they had understood her character long before that. The party assembled at Matching Priory, a country house belonging to Mr. Palliser, in which Lady Glencora took much delight, was not large, because Mr. Pallisers uncle, the Duke of Omnium, who was with thema, was now a very old man, and one who did not like very large gatherings of people. Lord and Lady Chiltern were therethat Lord Chiltern who had been known so long and so well in the hunting counties of England, and that Lady Chiltern who had been so popular in London as the beautiful Violet Effingham; and Mr. and Mrs. Grey were there, very particular friends of Mr. Pallisers. Mr. Grey was now sitting for the borough of Silverbridge, in which the Duke of Omniuxa was still presumed to have a controlling influence, in spite of all Reform bills, and Mrs. Grey was in some distant way connected with Lady Glencora. And Madame Max Goesler was therea lady whose society was still much affected by the old duke; and Mr. and Mrs. Bonteenwho had been brought there, not perhaps altogether because they were greatly loved, but in order that the gentlemans services xai~ht be made available by Mr. Palliser in reference to some great reform about to be introduced in monetary matters. Mr. Palliser, who was now Chancellor of the Exchequer, was intending to alter the value of the penny. Unless the work should be too much for him, and he should die before he had accomplished the self-imposes task, the future penny was to be made, under his auspices, to contain five far- things, and the shilling ten pennies. It was thought that if this could beaccsmplished, the arithmetic of the whole world would be so simplified that henceforward the name of Palliser would be blessed by all schoolboys, clerks, shopkeepers, and finan- ciers. But the difficulties were so great that Mr. Pallisers hair was already gray from toil, and his shoulders bent by the burden imaposel upon them. Mr. Bon- teen, with two private secretaries from the Treasury, was now at Matching to assist Mr. Palliser; and it was thought that both Mr. and Mrs. B3nteen were near to madness under the pressure of the five-farthing penny. Mr. Bonteen had remarked to many of his political friends that those two extra farthings that could not be made to go into the shilhin~ would put him into his cold grave before the. world would know what he had done or had rewarded him for it with a handle to his name, and a pension. Lord Fawn was also at Matchinga suggestion hav- ing been made to Lady Glencora by some leading Liberals that he should be sup- ported in his difficulties by her hospitality. The mind of Mr. Palliser himself was too deeply en~aged to admit of its being interested in the great necklace affair; but, of all the others assembled, there was not one who did not listen anxiously for news on the subject. As regarded the old duke, it had been found to be quite a godsend; and from post to post as the facts reached Matchinn they were com- municated to him. And, indeed, there were some there who would not wait for the post, but had the news about poor Lizzies diamonds down by the wires. The matter was of the greatest moment to Lord Fawn, an~h Lady Glencora was perhaps justified, on his behalf, in de- manding a preference for her aflhirs over the messages which were continuallypass 60 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. [JULT, ing between Matching and the Treasury But why shouldnt the diamonds have respecting those two ill-conditioned far- been in the box ? asked the duke. As things. this was the first intimation given to Lady Duke, she said, entering rather ab- Glencora of any suspicion that the dia- ruptly the small, warm, luxurious room in monds had not been taken with the box, which her husbands uncle was passing and as this had been received by tele- the morning Duke, they say now that graph, she could not answer the dukes after all the diamonds were not in the box question with any clear exposition of her when it was taken out of the room at own. She put up her hands and shook Carlisle. The duke was reclining in an her head. What does Plantagenet easy-chair, with his head leaning forward think about it ? asked the duke. Plan- on his breast, and Madame Goesler was tagenet. Palliser was the full name of the reading to him. It was now three oclock, dukes nephew and heir. The dukes and the old man had been brought down mind was evidently much disturbed. to this room after his breakfast. Madame He doesnt think that either the box or Goesler was reading the last famous new the diamonds were ever worth five far- novel, and the duke was dozing. That, things, said Lady Glencora. probably, was the fault neither of the The diamonds not in the box ! re- reader nor of the novelist, as the duke peated the duke. Madame Max, do was wont to doze in these days. But you believe that the diamonds were not Lady Giencoras tidings awakened him in the box ? Madame Goesler shrugged completely. She had the telegram in her her shoulders and made no answer; but handso that he could perceive that the the shrugging ef her shoulders was quite very latest sews was brought to him. satisfactory to the duke, who always The diamonds not i~i the box! he thought that Madame Goesler di4 every- saidpushing his head a little more thing better than anybody else. Lady forward in his eagerness, and sitting with Glencora staid with her uncle for the the extended fingers of his two hands best part of an hour, and every word touching each other. spoken was devoted to Lizzie and her Barrington. Erle says that Major necklace; but as this new idea had been Mackintosh is almost sure the diamonds broached, and as they had no other in- g were not there. Major Mackintosh was formation than that conveyed in the tele- an officer very high in the police force, gram, very little light could be thrown whom everybody trusted implicitly, and upon it. But on the next morning there as to whom the outward world believed came a letter from Barrington Erle to that he could discover the perpetrators of Lady Glencora, which told so much, and any iniquity, if he would only take the hinted so much more, that it will be well trouble to look into it. Such was the to give it to the reader pressing nature of his duties that he found himself compelled in one way or another Travellers, 29 Jan., 186 to give up about sixteen hours a day to Mr DEAR LADY GLENCORA: I hope them; but the outer world accused him you got my telegram yesterday. 1 had of idleness. There was nothing he just seen Mackintosh, on whose behalf, couldnt find outonly he would not give however, I must say that he told me as himself the trouble to find out all the little as he possibly could. It is leaking things that happened. Two or three out, however, on every side, that the po- newspapers had already been very hard lice believe that when the box was taken upon him in re~,ard to the Eustace dia- out of the room at Carlisle, the diamonds mondK Such a mystery as that, they were not in it. As far as I can learn, said, he ought to have unravelled long they ground this suspicion on the fact that ago. That he had not unravelled it yet they cannot trace the stones. They say was quite certain, that, if such a lot of diamonds had been The diamonds not in the box ! through the thieves market iu London, said the duke. they would have left some track behiud Then she must have known it, said them. As far as I can judge, Mackintosh Madame Goesler. thinks that Lord George has them, but That doesnt quite follow, Madame that her ladyship gave them to him; and Max, said Lady Glencora. that this little game of the robbery at 1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 61 Of course Ill keep you posted in everything respecting the necklace till you come to town yourself. Carlisle was planned to put John Eus- ing with Lord George, 1 shall be only too Lace and the lawyers off the scent. If it happy to be his friend. You remember should turn out that the box was opened our last duel. Chiltern is with you, and before it left Portray, that the door of her can put Fawn up to the proper way of e ladyships room was cut by her ladyships getting over to Flanders, and of returning, self, or by his lordship with her lady- should he chance to escape. ships aid, and that the fragments of the Yours always most faithfully, box were carried out of the hotel by his~ BARRINGTON ERLE. lordship in person, it will altogether have been so delightful a plot, that all con- cerned in it ought to be canonized or at least allowed to keep their plunder. An old detective told me that the opening of the box under the arch of the rail- way, in an exposed place, could hardly have been executed so neatly as was done; that no thief so situated would have given the time necessary to it; and that, if there had been thieves at all at work, they would have been traced. Against this, there is the certain fact, as 1 have heard from various men en~,aged in the inquiry, that certain persons among the community of thieves are very much at loggerheads with each other, the higher, or creative department in thiefdom, accus- ing the lower or mechanical department of gross treachery in having appropriated to its own sole profit plunder, for the taking of which it had undertaken to re- ceive a certain stipulated price. But then it may be the case that his lordship and her ladyship have set such a rumor abroad for the sake of putting the police off the scent. Upon the whole, the little mystery is quite delightful; and has put the ballot, and poor Mr. Pallisers five- farthinged penny, quite out ofjoint. No- body now cares for anything except the Eustace diamonds. Lord George, I am told; has offered to fight everybody or anybody, beginning with Lord Fawn and ending with Major Mackintosh. Should he be innocent, which of course is possi- ble, the thing must be annoying. I should not at all wonder myself if it should turn out that her ladyship left them in Scotlani The place there, how- ever, has been searched, in compliance with an order from the police and by her ladyships consent. Dont let Mr. Palliser quite kill him- self. 1 hope the Bonteen plan answers. I never knew a man who could find more farthings in a shilling than Mr. Bonteen. Remember me very kindly to the duke, and pray enable poor Fawn to keep up his spirits. If he likes to arrange a meet- The whole of this letter Lady Glencora read to the duke, to Lady Chiltern, and to Madame Goesler; and the principal con- tents of it she repeated to the entire com- pany. It was certainly the general be- lief at Matching that Lord George had the diamonds in his possession, either with or without the assistance of their late fair possessor. The duke was struck with awe when he thought of all the circumstances. The brother of a marquis! he said to his nephews wife. Its such a disgrace to the peerage! As for that, duke, said Lady Glen- cora, the peerage is used to it by this time. I never heard of such an affair as this before. I dont see why the brother of a marquis shouldnt turn thief as well as anybody else. They say he hasnt got anything of his own; and I suppose that is what makes men steal other peoples property. Peers go into trade, and peer- esses gamble on the Stock Exchange. Peers become bankrupt, and the sons of peers run away, just like other men. I dont see why all enterprises should not be open to them. But to think of that little purring cat, Lady Eustace, having been so veryvery clever! It makes me quite envious. All this took place in the morning that is, about two oclock; but after din- ner the subject became general. There might be some little reticence in regard to Lord Fawns feelings ,but it was not suf- ficient to banish a subject so interesting from the minds and lips of the company The Tewett marriage is to come off, after all, said Mrs. Bonteen. Ive a letter from dear Mrs. Itutter, telling me soasafact. I wonder whether Miss Roanoke will be allowed to wear one or two of the dia 62 TIlE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. JULY, monds at the wedding, suggested one of the private secretaries. No. idy will dare to wear a diamond at all next season, said Lady Glencora. As for my own, I shant think of having them out. I should always feel that I was being inspected. Unless they unravel the mystery, said Madame Goesler. I hope they wont do that, said Lady Glencora. The play is too good to come to an end so soon. If we hear that Lord George is engaged to Lady Ens- tace, nothing, 1 suppose, can be done to stop the marriage. Why shouldnt she marry if she pleases? asked Mr. Palliser. Iv~ not the slightest objection to her being married. I hope she will, with all my heart. I certainly think she should have her husband after buying him at such a price. I suppose Lord Fawn wont forbid the banns. These last words were only whispered to her next nei~,h- bor, Lord Chiltern; but poor Lord Fawn saw the whisper, and was aware that it must have had reference to his condition. On the next morning there came further news. The police had asked per- mission from their occupants to search the rooms in which lived Lady Eustace and Lord George, and in each ease the permission had been refused. So said Barrington Erle in his letter to Lady Gleneora. Lord George had told the ap- plicant, very roughly, that nobody should touch an article belonging to him without a search-warrant. If any ina,,istrate would dare to give such a warrant, let him do it. Im t~Ad that Lord George acts the indignant madman uncommonly well, said Barrington Erle in his letter. As for poor Lizzie, she had fainted when the proposition was made to her. The request was renewed as soon as she had been brought to herself; and then she refused, on the advice, as she said, of her cousin, Mr. Greystock. Barrington Erle went on to say that the police were very much blamed. It was believed that no information could be laid before a ma,,,is- trate sufficient to justify a search-warrant; and, in such circumstances, no~ search should have been attempted. Such was the public verdict, as declared in Barring- ton Erles kist letter to Lady Glencora. Mr. Palliser was of opinion that the at- tempt to search the ladys house was iniquitous. Mr. Bonteen shook his head, and rather thought that, if he were Home Secretary, he would have had the search made. Lady Chiltern said that, if police- men came to her, they might search every- thing she had in the world. Mrs. Grey reminded them that all they really knew of the unfortunate woman was, that her jewel-box had been stolen out of her bed- room at her hotel. Madame Goesler was of opinion that a lady who could carry such a box abunt the country with her deserved to have it stolen. Lord Fawn felt him- self obliged to confess that he agreed al- together with Madame Goesler. IJnfortu- nately, he had been acquainted with the lady, and now was constrained to say that her conduct had been such as to justify the suspicions of the police. Of course we all suspect her, said Lady Glencora, and of course we suspect Lord George too; and Mrs. Carbuncle and Miss Roanoke. But then, you know, if I were to lose my diamonds, people would sus- pect me just the same, or perhaps Plan- tagenet. It is so delightful to think that a woman has stolen her own property, and put all the police into a state of fer- ment. Lord Chiltern declared himself to he heartily sick of the whole subject and Mr. Grey, who was a very just man, su~estcd that the evidence, as yet, against anybody, was very slight. Of course its slight, said Lady Glencora. If it were more than slight, itwould be just like any other robbery, and there would be nothing in it. On the same morning Mrs. Bonteen received a second letter from her friend Mrs. Rutter. The Tewett marriage had been certainly broken off. Sir Griffin had been very violent, misbehaving himself gro sly in Mrs. Car- buncles house, and Miss Roanoke had declared that under no circumstances would she ever speak to him again. It was Mrs. Rutters opinion, however, that this violence had been put on by Sir Griffin, who was desiro~is of escaping from the marriage because of the affair of the diamonds. Hes very much bound up with Lord George, said Mrs. Rutter, and is afraid that he may be impli- cated. In my opinion hes quite right, said Lord Fawn. All these matters were told to the duke by Lady Gleneora and Madame Goesler in the recesses of his graces private room; 1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 63 for the duke was now infirm, and did not dine in company unless the day was very auspicious to him. But in the evening he would creep into the drawin,,-room, and on this occasion he had a word to say about the Eustace diamonds to every one in the room. It was admitted by them all that the robbery had been a godsend in the way of amusing the duke. Wouldnt have her boxes searched, you know, said the duke. j That looks uncommonly sus- picious. Perhaps, Lady Chiltern, we shall hear to-morrow morning something more about it. Poor dear duke, said Lady Chiltern to her husband. Doting old idiot! he replied. CHAPTER XLVIII. LIZZIES CONDITION. WHEN such a man as Barrington Erie undertakes to send information to such a correspondent as Lady Glencora in refer- ence to such a matter as Lady Eustaces diamonds, he is bound to be full rather than accurate. We may say, indeed, that perfect accuracy would be detrimental rather than otherwise, and would tend to disperse that feeling of mystery which is so gratifying. No suggestion had in truth heen made to Lord George de Bruce Car- ruthers as to the sea;ching of his lord- ships boxes and desks. That very emi- nent detective officer, Mr. Bunfit, had, however, called upon Lord George more than once, and Lord George had declared very plainly that he did not like it. If youll have the kindness to explain to me what it is you want, Ill be much obliged to you,Lord George had said to Mr. Bunfit. Well, my lord, said Bunfit, what we want is these diamonds. Do you believe that Ive got them? A man in my situation, my lord, never believes anything. We has to suspect, but we never believes.~~ You suspect that I stole them. No, my lord; I didnt say that. But things are very queer; arent they ? The immediate object of Mr. Bunfits visit on this morning had been to ascertain from Lord George whether it was true that his lordship had been with Messrs. Harter and Benjamin, the jewellers, on the morning after his arrival in town. No one from tho police had ~s yet seen either Ilarter or Benjamin in connection with this rob- bery; but it may not be too much to say that the argus eyes of Ma.jor Mackintosh were upon Messrs. Harter and Benjamins whole establishment, and it was believed that if the jewels were in London they were locked up in some box within that house. It was thought more than proba- ble by Major Mackintosh and his myrmi- dons, that the jewels were already at Hambur~,; and by this time, as the ma- jor had explained to Mr. Camperdown, every one of them might have been reset, or even recut. But it was known that Lord George had been at the house of Messrs. Harter and Benjamin early on the morning after his return to town, and the ingenuous Mr. Bunfit, who, by reason of his situation, never believed anything and only suspected, had expressed a very strong opinion to Major Mackintosh that the necklace had in truth been transferred to the Jews on that morning. That there was nothing too hot or too heavy for Messrs. Harter and Benjamin, was quite a creed with the police of the west end of London. Might it not be well ts ask Lord George what he had to say about the visit? Should Lord George deny the visit, such denial would go far to confirm Mr. Bunfit. The question was asked, and Lord George did not deny the visit. Un- fortunately they hold acceptances of mine, said Lord George, and 1 am often there. We know as they have your lordships name to paper, said Mr. Bun- fit, thanking Lord George, however, for his courtesy. It may be understood that all this would be unpleasant to Lord George, and that he should be indignant almost to madness. But Mr. Erles information, though cer- tainly defective in regard to Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, had been more cor- rect when he spoke of the lady. An in- terview that was very terrible to poor Liz- zie did take place between her and Mr. Bunfit in Mrs. Carbuncles house on Tues- day the 30th of January. There had been many interviews between Lizzie and vari- ous members of the police force in refer- ence to the diamonds, but the questions put to her had always been asked on the supposition that she might have mislaid the necklace. Was it not possible that she might have thought that she locked it up, but have omitted to place it in the box? A~ long as these questions had ref

1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 63 for the duke was now infirm, and did not dine in company unless the day was very auspicious to him. But in the evening he would creep into the drawin,,-room, and on this occasion he had a word to say about the Eustace diamonds to every one in the room. It was admitted by them all that the robbery had been a godsend in the way of amusing the duke. Wouldnt have her boxes searched, you know, said the duke. j That looks uncommonly sus- picious. Perhaps, Lady Chiltern, we shall hear to-morrow morning something more about it. Poor dear duke, said Lady Chiltern to her husband. Doting old idiot! he replied. CHAPTER XLVIII. LIZZIES CONDITION. WHEN such a man as Barrington Erie undertakes to send information to such a correspondent as Lady Glencora in refer- ence to such a matter as Lady Eustaces diamonds, he is bound to be full rather than accurate. We may say, indeed, that perfect accuracy would be detrimental rather than otherwise, and would tend to disperse that feeling of mystery which is so gratifying. No suggestion had in truth heen made to Lord George de Bruce Car- ruthers as to the sea;ching of his lord- ships boxes and desks. That very emi- nent detective officer, Mr. Bunfit, had, however, called upon Lord George more than once, and Lord George had declared very plainly that he did not like it. If youll have the kindness to explain to me what it is you want, Ill be much obliged to you,Lord George had said to Mr. Bunfit. Well, my lord, said Bunfit, what we want is these diamonds. Do you believe that Ive got them? A man in my situation, my lord, never believes anything. We has to suspect, but we never believes.~~ You suspect that I stole them. No, my lord; I didnt say that. But things are very queer; arent they ? The immediate object of Mr. Bunfits visit on this morning had been to ascertain from Lord George whether it was true that his lordship had been with Messrs. Harter and Benjamin, the jewellers, on the morning after his arrival in town. No one from tho police had ~s yet seen either Ilarter or Benjamin in connection with this rob- bery; but it may not be too much to say that the argus eyes of Ma.jor Mackintosh were upon Messrs. Harter and Benjamins whole establishment, and it was believed that if the jewels were in London they were locked up in some box within that house. It was thought more than proba- ble by Major Mackintosh and his myrmi- dons, that the jewels were already at Hambur~,; and by this time, as the ma- jor had explained to Mr. Camperdown, every one of them might have been reset, or even recut. But it was known that Lord George had been at the house of Messrs. Harter and Benjamin early on the morning after his return to town, and the ingenuous Mr. Bunfit, who, by reason of his situation, never believed anything and only suspected, had expressed a very strong opinion to Major Mackintosh that the necklace had in truth been transferred to the Jews on that morning. That there was nothing too hot or too heavy for Messrs. Harter and Benjamin, was quite a creed with the police of the west end of London. Might it not be well ts ask Lord George what he had to say about the visit? Should Lord George deny the visit, such denial would go far to confirm Mr. Bunfit. The question was asked, and Lord George did not deny the visit. Un- fortunately they hold acceptances of mine, said Lord George, and 1 am often there. We know as they have your lordships name to paper, said Mr. Bun- fit, thanking Lord George, however, for his courtesy. It may be understood that all this would be unpleasant to Lord George, and that he should be indignant almost to madness. But Mr. Erles information, though cer- tainly defective in regard to Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, had been more cor- rect when he spoke of the lady. An in- terview that was very terrible to poor Liz- zie did take place between her and Mr. Bunfit in Mrs. Carbuncles house on Tues- day the 30th of January. There had been many interviews between Lizzie and vari- ous members of the police force in refer- ence to the diamonds, but the questions put to her had always been asked on the supposition that she might have mislaid the necklace. Was it not possible that she might have thought that she locked it up, but have omitted to place it in the box? A~ long as these questions had ref 64 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. erence to a possible oversight in Scotland, to some carelessness which she might have committed on the night before she left her home, Lizzie upon the whole seemed rather to like the idea. It certainly was possible. She believed thoroughly that the diamonds had been locked by her in the box,but she acknowledged that it might be the case that they had been left on one side. This had happened when the police first began to suspect that the necklace had not been in the box when it was carried out of the Carlisle hotel, but before it had occurred to them that Lord George had been concerned in the rob- bery, and possibly Lady Eustace herself. Men had been sent down from London, of course at considerable expense, and Por- tray Castle had been searched, with the consent of its owner, from the weather- cock to the foundation-stone, much to the consternation of Miss Macnulty and to the delight of Andy Gowran. No trace of the diamonds was found, and Lizzie had so far fraternized with the police. But when Mr. Bunfit called upon her, perhaps for the fifth or sixth time, and suggested that he should be allowed, with the assistance of the female whom he had left behind him in the hull, to search all her lady- ships boxes, drawers, presses, and recep- tacles in London, the thing took a very different aspect. You see, my lady, said Mr. Bunfit, excusing the peculiar na- ture of his request, it may have got & nywhere among your ladyships things unbeknownst. Lady Eustace and Mrs. Carbuncle were at the time sitting to- gether, and Mrs. Carbuncle was the first to protest. if Mr. Bun~t thought that he was going to search her things, Mr. Bun- fit was very much mistaken. What she had suffered about this necklace no man or woman knew, and she meant that there should be. an end of it. It was her opin- ion that the police should have discovered every stone of it days and days ago. At any rate her house was her own, and she gave Mr. Bunfit to understand that his repeated visits were not agreeable to her. But when Mr. Bunfit, without showing the sli~htest displeasure at the evil things said of him, suggested that the search should be confined to the rooms used ex- clusively by Lady Eustace, Mrs. Carbun- cle absolutely changed her views, and re- commended that he should be allowed to have his way. At that moment the condition of poor. Lizzie Eustace was very sad. He who re- counts these details has scorned to have a secret between himself and his readers. The diamonds were at this moment locked up within Lizzies desk. For the last three weeks they had been thereif it may n~t be more truly said that they were lying heavily on her heart. For three weeks had her mind with constant stretch been working on that pointwhither should she take the diamonds, and what should she do with them? A certain very wonderful strength she did possess, or she could not have endured the weight of so terrible an anxiety; but from day to day the thing became worse and worse with her, as gradually she perceived that sus- picion was attached to herself Should she confide the secret to Lord George, or to Mrs. Carbuncle, or to Frank Grey- stock? She thought she could have borne it all if only some one would have borne it with her. But when the moments came in which such confidence might be made, her courage failed her. Lord George she saw frequently; but he was unsympathet- ic and almost rough with her. She knew that he also was suspected, and she was almost disposesi to think that he had planned the robbery. If it were so, if the robbery had been his handiwork, it was not singular that he should be unsympa- thetic with the owner and probable holder of the prey which he had missed. Never- theless Lizzie thought that if he would have been soft with her, like a dear ,good, genuine Corsair, for half an hour, she would have told him all, and placed the necklace in his hands. And there were moments in which she almost resolved to tell her secret to Mrs. Carbuncle. She had stolen nothing; so she averred to her- self. She had intended only to defend and save her own property. Even the lie that she had told, and the telling of which was continued from day to day, had in a mea- sure been forced upon her by circumstan- ces. She thought that Mrs. Carbuncle would sympathize with her in that feeling which had prevented her from speaking the truth when first the fact of the rob- bery was made known to herself in her own bedroom. Mrs. Carbuncle was a lady who told many lies, as Lizzie well knew, and surely could not be horrified at a lie told in such circumstances. But it wa~ not, in Lizzies nature to trust a woman EJrLT, 1872.] THE EUSTACE DI4MONDS. 65 Mrs. Carbuncle would tell Lord Geor~e, though of what she was suspected she did and that would destroy everything, not clearly perceive. As far as she could When she thought of confiding everythin~, divine the thoughts of her enemies, they to her cousin, it was always in his a~- did not seem to suppose that the diamonds sgnce. The idea became dreadful to her were in her possession. It seemed to be as soon as he was present. She could not believed by those enemies that they had dare to own to him that she had sworn passed into the hands of Lord Geor~ e. As falsely to the magistrate at Carlisle. And long as her enemies were on a scent so so the burden had to be borne, increasing false, might it not be best that she should very hour in weight, and the poor crea- remain quiet? tures back was not broad enou~h to bear But all the ingenuity, the concentrated it. She thou~,ht of the necklace every force, and trained experience of the police waking minute, and dreamed of it when of London would surely be too great and she slept. She could not keep herself powerful for her in the long run. She from unlocking her desk and looking at it could not hope to keep her secret and twenty times a day, although she knew the diamonds till~they should ncknowl- the peril of such nervous solicitude. If edge themselves to be baffled. And then she could only rid herself of it altogether, she was aware of a morbid desire on her she was sure now that she would do so. own part to tell the secretof a desire that She would throw it into the ocean fathoms amounted almost to a disease. It would deep, if only she could find herself alone soon burst her bosom open, unless she upon the ocean. But she felt that, let her could share her knowledge with some go where she might, she would be watch- one. And yet, as she thought of it all, ed. She mi~ht declare to-morrow her in- she told herself that she had no friend so tention of going to Ireland, or, for that fast and true as to justify such confidence. matter, to America. But, were she to She was ill with anxiety, andworse than do so, some horrid policeman would be on thatMrs. Carbuncle knew that she was her track. The iron box had been a tern- ill. It was acknowledged between them ble nuisance to her; but the iron box had that this affair of the necklace was so ter- been as nothing compared to the necklace rible as to make a woman ill. Mrs. Car- locked up in her desk. From day to day buncle at present had been gracious enough she meditated a plan of taking the thing to admit so much as that. But might it out into the streets and dropping it in the not be probable that Mrs. Carbuncle dark; but she was sure that were she to would come to suspect that she did not do so some one would have watched her know the whole secret? Mrs. Carbuncle while she dropped it. She was unwilling had already, on more than one occasion,~ to trust her old friend Mr. Benjamin; but said a little word or two which had been in these days her favorite scheme was to unpleasant. offer the diamonds for sale to him at some Such was Lizzies condition when Mr. very low price. If he would help her, Bunfit came, with his authoritative r~ they might surely be got out of their pres- quest to be allowed to inspect Lizzies ent hiding-place into his hands. Any boxesand when Mrs. Carbuncle, having man would be powerful to help if there secured her own privacy, expressed her were any man whom she could trust. In opinion that Mr. Bunfit should be allowed furth3rance of this scheme she went so far to do as he desired. as to break a broocha favorite brooch of her ownin order that she might have an excuse for calling at the jewellers. But CHAPTER XLIX. even this she postponed from day to day. Circumstances, as they had occurred, had Ii U N F i T A N D C A C E R. tau~ht her to believe that the police could As soon as the words were out of Mrs. not insist on breaking open her desk un- Carbuncles mouth those ill-natured less some evidence could be brought words in which she expressed her assent against her. There was no evidence, and to Mr. Bunfits proposition that a search her desk was so far safe. But the same cir- should be made after the diamonds among cumstances had made her understand that all the possessions of Lady Eustace which she was already suspected of some in- were now lodged in her own housepoor tnigue with reference to the diamonds Lizzies courage deserted her entirely. 66 THE EUSrACE DIAMONDS. [JULT, She had been very courageous; for, though her powers of endurance had sometimes nearly deserted her, though her heart had often failed her, still she had gone on and had endured and been silent. To en- dure and to be silent in her position did require great coarage. She was all alone in her misery, and could see no way out of it. The diamonds were heavy as a load of lead within her bosom. And yet she had persevered. Now, as she heard Mrs. Carbuncles words, her cour- age failed her. There came some ob- struction in her throat, so that she could not speak. She felt as though her heart were breaking. She put out both her hands and could not draw them hack again. She knew that she was betraying herself by her weakness. She could just hear the man explaining that the search was merely a thing of ceremonyJus to satisfy everybody that there was no mistakeand then she fainted. So far. Barrington Erie was cor- rect in the information given by him to Lady Gleucora. She pressed one hand against her heart, gasped for breath, and then fell back upon the sofa. Per- haps she could have done nothing bet- ter. Had the fainting been counterfeit, the measure would have shown ability. But the fainting was alto~ether true. Mrs. Carbuncle first, and then Mr. Bunfit, hurried from their seats to help her. To neither of them did it occur for a moment that the fit was false. The whole thing has been too much for her, said Mrs. Carbuncle severely, ringing the bell at the same time for further aid. No doubt, mum; no doubt. We has to see a deal of this sort of thing. Just a little air, if you please, mum and as much water as d go to christen a babby. Thats always best, mum. If youll have the kindness to stand on one side, said Mrs. Carbuncle, as she stretched Lizzie on the sofii. Certainly, mum, said Bunfit, stand- ing erect by the wall, but not showing the slightest disposition to leave the room. You had better go, said Mrs. Car- buncle, loudly and very severely. Ill just stay and see her come to, mum. 1 wont do her a morsel of harm, mum. Sometimes they faints at the very first sight of such as we; but we has to bear it. A little more air, if you could, mumand just dash the water on in drops like. They feels a drop more than they would a bucket-fulland then when they comes to they hasnt to change theirselves. Bunfits advice, founded on much ex- perience, was good, and Lizzie gradual- ly came to herselfand opened her eyes. She immediately clutched at her breast, feeling for her key. She found it un- moved, b~mt before her finger had recog- nised the touch, her quick mind had told her how wrong the movement had been. it had been lost upon Mrs. Car- buncle, but not on Mr. Bunfit. He did not at once think that she had the dia- monds in her desk; but he felt almost sure that there was somethin~ in her possession probably some document which, if found, would place him on the track of the diamonds. But he could not compel a search. Your ladyship 11 soon be better, said Bunfit graciously. Lizzie endeavored to smile as she express- ed her assent to this proposition. As I was a-saying to the elder lady Saying to who, sir?~ exclaimed Mrs. Carbuncle, rising up in wrath. Elder indeed!~ As I was a-venturing to explain, these fits of fainting come often in our way. Thieves, mumthat is, the regulars dont mind us a bit, and the women is more hardeneder than the men; but when we has to speak to a lady, it is so often that she goes off like that! Ive known m do it just at being looked at. Dont you think, sir, that youd bet- ter leave us now? said Mrs. Carbuncle. Indeed you had, said Lizzie. Im fit for nothing just at present. We wont disturb your ladyship the least in life, said Mr. Bunfit, if youll only just let us have your keys. Your servant can be with us, and we wont move one tittle of anything. But Lizzie, though she was still suffering that inef. fable sickness which always accompanies and follows a real fainting-fit, would not surremmder her keys. Already had an ex- cuse for not doing so occurred to her. But for a while she seemed to hesitate. I dont demand it, Lady Eustace, said Mr. Bunfit, but if youll allow me to say so, I do think it will look better for your ladyship. I can take no step without consulting 1872.] THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 67 my cousin, Mr. Greystock, said Lizzie; and having thought of this she adhered to it. The detective supplied her with many reasons for giving up her, keys, alleging that it would do no harm, and that her refusal would create infinite suspicions. But Lizzie had formed her answer and stuck to it. She always consulted her cousin, and always acted upon his advice. He had alre~dy cautioned her not to take any steps without his sanction. She would do nothing till he consented. If Mr. Bunfit would see Mr. Greystock, and if Mr. Greystock would come to her and tell her to submitshe would submit. Ill as she was, she could be obstinate, and Bunfit left the house without having been able to finger that key which he felt sure that Lady Eustace carried somewhere on her person. As he walked back to his own quarters in Scotland Yard, Bunfit was by no means dissatisfied with his mornings work. He had not expected to find anything with Lady Eustace, and, when she fainted, had not hoped to be allowed to search. But he was now sure that her ladyship was possessed, at any rate, of some guilty knowledge. Bunfit was one of those who, almost from the first, had believed that the box was empty when taken out of the hotel. Stones like them must turn up mdre or less, was Bunfits great argument: That the police should already have found the stones themselves was not perhaps proba- ble; but had any ordinary thieves had them in their hands, they could not have been passed on without leaving a trace behind them. It was his opinion, that the box had been opened and the door cut by the instrumentality and concurrence of Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, with the assistance of some one well-skilled me- chanical thief. Nothing could be made out of the tall footman. Indeed, the tall footman had already been set at liberty, although he was known to have evil asso- ciates; and the tall footman was now loud in demandin~, compensation for the ir~jury. done to him. Many believed that the tall footman had been concerned in the matter, many, that is, amnon, the experienced crafts- men of the police force. Bunfit thought otherwise. Bunfit believed that the dia- nmond.s were now either in the possession of Lord George or of Harter and Benjamin, that they had been handed over to Lord George to save them from Messrs. Camper- down and the lawsuit, and that Lord George and the lady were lovers. The ladys con- duct at their last interview, her fit of faint- ing, and her clutching for the key, all con- firmed Bunfit in his opinion. But unfortu- nately for Bunfit he was almost alone in his opinion. There were men in the force, high in their profession as detectives, who avowed that certainly two very experienced and well-known thieves had been con- cerned in the business. That a certain Mr. Smiler had been there, a gentleman for whom the whole police of London entertained a feeling which approached to veneration, and that most diminutive of full-grown thieves, Billy Cann, most di- minutive but at the same time most ex- pert, was not doubted by some minds which were apt to doubt till conviction had become certainty. The traveller who had left the Scotch train at Dumfries had been a very small man, and it was a known fact that Mr. Smiler had left London by train from the Buston Square station, on the day before that on which Lizzie and her party had reached Carlisle. If it were so, if Mr. Smiler and Billy Cana had both been at work at the hotel, thenso argued they who opposed the Bunfit theoryit was hardly conceivable that the robbery should have been arranged by Lord George. Ac- cording to the Bunfit theory the only thing needed by the conspirators had been that the diamonds should be handed over by Lady Eustace to Lord George in such a way as to escape suspicion that such trans- fer had been made. This might have been done with very little trouble, by simply leaving the box empty, with the key in it. The door of the bedroom had been opened by skilful professional men, and the box had been forced by the use of tools which none but professional gentlemen would possess. Was it probable that Lord George would have committed himself with such men, and incurred the very heavy expense of paying for their services, when he was, according to the Bunfit theory, able to get at the diamonds without any such trouble, danger, and expenditure? There was a young detective in the force, very clever almost too clever, and certainly a little too fastGager by name, who declared that the Bunfit theory warnt on the cards. According to Gagers information, Smiler was at this moment a broken-hearted man, ran ~, ing between mad indignation and suicidal despondency, because he had 68 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. [JULY, been treated with treachery in some direc- tion. Mr. Gager was as fully convinced as Bunfit that the diamonds had not been in the box. There was bitter, raging, heart-breaking disappointment about the diamonds in more quarters than one. That there had been a double robbery Gager was quite sure; or rather a robbery in which two sets of thieves had been con- cerned, and in which one set had been duped by the other set. In this affair Mr. Smiler and po~r little Billy Cann had been the dupes. So far Gagers mind had arrived at certainty. But then how had they been duped, and who had duped them? And who had employed them? Such a robbery would hardly have been arranged and executed except on commis- sion. Even Mr. Smiler would not have burdened himself with such diamonds without knowing what to do with them, and what he should get for them. That they were intended ultimately for the hands of Messrs. Harter .and Benjamin, (Jager almost believed. And Ga~,er was inclined to think that Messrs. ilarter and Benjaminor rather Mr. Benjamin, for Mr. Harter himself was almost too old for work requiring so very great mental activ- itythat Mr. Benjamin, fearing the hon- esty of his executive officer Mr. Smiler, had been splendidly treacherous to his subordinate. Gager had not quite com- pleted his theory; but he was very firm on one great point, that the thieves at Carlisle had been genuine thieves, think- ing that they were stealing the diamonds, and finding their mistake out when the box had been opened by them under the brid~e. Who have em, then? asked Bunfit of his younger brother, in a dis- paragin~ whisper. Well; yes; who ~ve em? Its easy to say, who ave em? Suppose e ave em. The he~ alluded to by Gager was Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. But laws, Bunfit, theyre goneweeks a~,o. You know that, Bunfit. This had occurred before the intended search among poor Lizzies boxes, but Bunfits theory had not been shaken. Bunfit could see all round his own theory. It was a whole, and the motives as well as the op- erations of the persons concerned were explained by it. But the Gager theory only went to show what had not been done, and offered no explanation of the accomplished scheme. Then Bunfit went a little further in his theory, not disdain- ing to accept something from Gager. Perhaps Lord George had engaged these men, and had afterwards found it practi- cable to get the diamonds without their assistance. On one great point all con- cerned in the inquiry were in unison that the diamonds had not been in the box when it was carried out of the bed- room at Carlisle. The great point of dif- ference consisted in this, that whereas Gager was sure that the robbery when committed had been genuine, Bunfit was of opinion that the box had been first opened, and then taken out of the hotel in order that the police mi~ht be put on a wrong track. The matter was becoming very impor- tant. Two or three of the leading newa- papers had first hinted at and then openly condemned the incompetence and slowness of the police. Such censure, us we all know, is very common, and in nine cases out of ten it is unjurt. They who write it probably know but little of the circum- stances, and, in speaking of a failure here amid a failure there, make no refer- e~nce to the numerous successes, which are so customary as to partake of the na- ture of routine. It is the same in re~ard to all public matters; army matters, navy matters, poor-law matters, and post-office matters. Day after day, and almost every day, one meets censure which is felt to be unjust; but the general result of all this injustice is increased efficiency. The coach does go the faster because of the whip in the coachmans hand, though the horses driven may never have deserved the thong. In this matter of the Eustace diamonds the police had been very active; but they had been unsuccessful and had consequently been abused. The robbery was now more than three weeks old. Property to the amount of ten thousand pounds had been abstracted, and as yet the police had not even formed an assured opinion on the subject! Had the same Thing occurred in New York or Paris every diamond would by this time have been traced. Such were the assertions made, and the police were instigated to new ex- ertions. Bunfit would have jeopardized his right hand, and Gager his life, to get at the secret. Even Major Mackintosh was anxious. The facts of the claim made by Mr. Caniperdown, and of the bill which had 1872.J 0 THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 69 been filed in Chancery for the recovery of the diamonds, were of course widely known, and added much to the general interest and complexity; It was averred that Mr. Camperdowns determination to get the diamonds had been very energetic, and Lady Eustaces determination to keep them equally so. Wonderful stories were told of Lizzies courage, energy and reso- lution. There was hardly a lawyer of repute but took up the question, and had an opinion as to Lizzies ri~,ht to the neck- lace. The Attorney and Solicitor Gene- ral were dead against her, asserting that the diamonds certainly did not pass to her under the will, and could not have be- come hers by gift. But they were mem- bers of a liberal government, and of course Antilizzieite. Gentlemen who were equal to them in learning, who had held offices equally high, were distinctly of a different opinion. Lady Eustace might probably claim the jewels as paraphernalia proper- ly appertaining to her rank; in which claim the bestowal of then~i by her hus- band would no doubt assist her. And to these gentlemenwho were Lizzieites and of course Conservatives in politicsit was by no means clear that the diamonds did not pass to her by will. If it could be shown that the diamonds had been lately kept in Scotland, the ex-Attorney-Gene- ral thought that they would so pass. All ~which questions, now that the jewels had been lost, were discussed openly, and added greatly to the anxiety of the police. Both Lizzieites and Antilizzieites were disposed to think that Lizzie was very clever. Frank Greystock in these days took up his cousins part alto~ether in good faith. He entertained not the slightest suspicion that she was deceiving him in regard to the diamonds. That the robbery had been a bona fide robbery, and that Lizzie had lost her treasure, w s to him beyond doubt. lie had gradually convinced him- self that Mr. Camperdown was wrong in his claim, and was strongly of opinion that Lord Fawn had disgraced himself by his conduct to the lady. When he now heard, as he did hear, that some undefin- ed suspicion was attached to his cousin, and when he heard alsoas unfortunately he did hearthat Lord Fawn had encour- aged that suspicion, he was very irate, and said grievous things of Lord Fawn. It seemed to him to be the extremity of 5 cruelty that suspicion should be attached to his cousin because she had been robbed of her jewels. He was among those who were most severe in their denunciation of the policeand was the more so, because he had heard it asserted that the necklace had not in truth been stolen. He busied himself very much in the matter, and even interro~,ated John Eustace as to his inten- tions. ~My dear fellow, said Eustace, if you hated those diamonds as much as I do, you would never mention them again. Greystock declared that this expression of aversion to the subject might be all very well for Mr. Eustace, but that he found himself bound to defend his cousin. You cannot defend her against me, said Eustace, for Ido not attack her. I have never said a word against her. I went down to Portray when she asked me. As far as I am concerned she is per- fectly welcome to wear the necklace, if she can get it back again. I will not make or meddle in the matter one way or the other. Frank, after that, went to Mr. Camperdown, but he could get no satisfaction from the attorney. Mr. Cam- perdown would only say that he had a duty todo,and that he must do it. On the matter of the robbery he refused to give an opinion. That was in the hands of the police. Should the diamonds be recover- ed, he would, of course, claim them on behalf of the estate. In his opinion, whether the diamonds were recovered or not, Lady Eustace was responsible to the estate for their value. In opposition, first to the entreaties, and then to the demands of her late husbands family, she had in- sisted on absurdly carrying about with her an enormou~ amount of property which did not belong to her. Mr. Cam- perdown opined that she must pay for the lost diamonds out of her jointure. Frank, in a huff, declared that, as far as he could see, the diamonds belonged to his cousin; in answer to which Mr. Cam- perdown suggested that the question was one for the decision of the Yice.Chancel- br. Frank Greystock found that he could do nothing with Mr. Camperdown, and felt that he could wreak his vengeance only on Lord Kwn. Bunfit, when he returned from Mrs. Carbuncles house to Scotland Yard, had an interview with Major Mackintosh. Well, Bunfit, have you seen the lady? 70 TO JULIET A [Jurx. Yes, I did see her, sir. And what came of it? She fainted away, sirjust as they always do. There was no search, I suppose? No, sir; no search. She wouldnt have it, unless her cousin, Mr. Greystock, permitted. I didnt think she would. Nor yet didnt I, sir. But ill tell you what it is, major. She knows all about it. You think she does, Bunfit? She does, sir; and shes got some- thing locked up somewhere in that house as d elucidate the whole of this aggravat ing mystery, if only we could get at it, Major Well, Bunfit. I aint noway~ sure as she aint got them very diamonds themselves locked up, or, perhaps, tied round her person. Neither am I sure that she has not, said the major. The robbery at Carlisle was no rob- bery, continued Bunfit. It was a got- up plant, and about the best as 1 ever knowed. Its my mind that it was a got- up plant between her ladyship and his lordship; and either the one or the other is just keeping the diamonds till its safe to take em into the market TO JULIET A ON HEARING HER SING ROCK OF AGES.~~ TT cannot be thou Wilt not sing in heaven, .L Whose voice with heaven my soul so much engages; And I will pray this joy to me be given, To hear thee, there as here, sing Rock of Ages. I know the hymns of the celestial choirs Will not be set and cadenced to earths minor That angel tongues, touched with seraphic fires, Will swell with music, like its themes, diviner. Yet when I think of all the ransomed throng, That may at last outnumber the pure angels, I cannot doubt that now and then their song VV411 wake some echoes of their old evangels. Though, safe within the jasper walls, the saints Must sing in strains befitting their high station, And breathe no more in sighs Dundees sad plaints, Why not the raptures of old Coronation? And are there not, perhaps, some notes of earth Of grandeur half concealed till lifted higher? Born for a glory far beyond its birth, Why may not seraphs render The Messiah? Yet I will ask but this: if heaven may ring With any anthems mortal tongues once chanted, To hear thee singing To Thy cross I cling, in bliss to thee and me through that cross granted. W. C. RICHARDS. I

70 TO JULIET A [Jurx. Yes, I did see her, sir. And what came of it? She fainted away, sirjust as they always do. There was no search, I suppose? No, sir; no search. She wouldnt have it, unless her cousin, Mr. Greystock, permitted. I didnt think she would. Nor yet didnt I, sir. But ill tell you what it is, major. She knows all about it. You think she does, Bunfit? She does, sir; and shes got some- thing locked up somewhere in that house as d elucidate the whole of this aggravat ing mystery, if only we could get at it, Major Well, Bunfit. I aint noway~ sure as she aint got them very diamonds themselves locked up, or, perhaps, tied round her person. Neither am I sure that she has not, said the major. The robbery at Carlisle was no rob- bery, continued Bunfit. It was a got- up plant, and about the best as 1 ever knowed. Its my mind that it was a got- up plant between her ladyship and his lordship; and either the one or the other is just keeping the diamonds till its safe to take em into the market TO JULIET A ON HEARING HER SING ROCK OF AGES.~~ TT cannot be thou Wilt not sing in heaven, .L Whose voice with heaven my soul so much engages; And I will pray this joy to me be given, To hear thee, there as here, sing Rock of Ages. I know the hymns of the celestial choirs Will not be set and cadenced to earths minor That angel tongues, touched with seraphic fires, Will swell with music, like its themes, diviner. Yet when I think of all the ransomed throng, That may at last outnumber the pure angels, I cannot doubt that now and then their song VV411 wake some echoes of their old evangels. Though, safe within the jasper walls, the saints Must sing in strains befitting their high station, And breathe no more in sighs Dundees sad plaints, Why not the raptures of old Coronation? And are there not, perhaps, some notes of earth Of grandeur half concealed till lifted higher? Born for a glory far beyond its birth, Why may not seraphs render The Messiah? Yet I will ask but this: if heaven may ring With any anthems mortal tongues once chanted, To hear thee singing To Thy cross I cling, in bliss to thee and me through that cross granted. W. C. RICHARDS. I THE CAVE OF THE WiNDS. IN FOUR PARTS.PART III. BRAN WELL had left the ladies in the parlor, and had wandered out, not going near the falls, but hearing that tremendous monotone, which he almost thought to be the grand diapason of all the music of the world. His heart was filled and soothed, and he felt something like vexation at the intrusion when a hand was laid upon his arm. He turned quickly, and his lips parted in an exclamation of surprise when he recognized his old secre- tary, Mortonsomewhat embrowned by travel, but still the same, free, careless, debonair, with perhaps not too much of strong principle in him. He grasped his quondam employers hand with the close pressure of astonish-~ ment and pleasure. I shall bless the fates that sent me here, he said, though 1 came reluc- tantly enou~h. What is it, a business trip?~ asked Branwell, for,iving the interruption for the sake of aa hours chat with the secre- tary. And what are you doing now? Oh, I have subsided into a travelling a~ent for a manufacturing company in New York. I came back quite penniless from my Eastern travels, and was obli~ed to go to work in good earnest. Its devil- ish poor to be a poor devil. Can I help you any? asked Bran- well. Thank you, no; I am tolerably weli provided for at present. I only hope the stars hold a fortune in store for me. Thus strolling about the hotel grounds, the two men talked of many things, cur- sorily, with a passing interest in each. Leaning against the pillar of the piazza, with a bright moon shining full upon the face of his companion, who stood opposite to him, Morton suddenly said with his flip- pant pleasantness of manner: Apparently the world has been good to you, Branwell. Your face bears the years very well: that mysterious mar- raige h~ snt haunted you very severely, 1 flincy. Have you ever made the ac- quaintance of the bride? Never, was the cold response. What! cried Morton with vivacity Then my prophecy is not yet fulfilled; for I believe I predicted that some happy day you would chance to see her and fall in love with her. And I predicted that I should not, said Branwell. Well, it was one of the most absurd affairs I ever heard of, continued Mor- ton, throwing away a cigar and prepa~ing to light another. I am sorry you still continue so sensitive about it. What is the harm in your trying to see the gi1~l, and become acquainted with her? And Morton divided his conversation between his companion and the wreaths of smoke he was puffing. You forget, said Branwell, that 1 received a letter from her in which such a thing is forbidden. It would not he easy to transgress the desire she then express- ed, even if I wished to do so, which 1 do not. Pshaw! nothing in the world but woman s nonsense, said Morton with manly scorn. Id bet a fortune, if I had it, that she has repented writing that miserable letter. Its source could only have been a whim at the time. Do you think so? musingly asked Branwell, thinking of Miss Lorillard. Where is your wife? asked Morton. Branwell started at that wordit had never been said to him before. I dont know. You know the circum- stances too well to ask that, Morton. Morton laughed with a laugh that grat- ed upon his companions ears. You are a gallant fellow, he said. So, if you wanted to communicate with your wife, youd be obliged to resort to the detective force for aid. Branwell did not reply; his specula- tions were very bitter. lie did not like the conversation, but he was not surprised at the way Morton viewed his course. Morton, he said suddenly, you saw her; how does she lookdo you re- member? Yes, I remember very well indeed, was the emphatic reply. A man is not

THE CAVE OF THE WiNDS. IN FOUR PARTS.PART III. BRAN WELL had left the ladies in the parlor, and had wandered out, not going near the falls, but hearing that tremendous monotone, which he almost thought to be the grand diapason of all the music of the world. His heart was filled and soothed, and he felt something like vexation at the intrusion when a hand was laid upon his arm. He turned quickly, and his lips parted in an exclamation of surprise when he recognized his old secre- tary, Mortonsomewhat embrowned by travel, but still the same, free, careless, debonair, with perhaps not too much of strong principle in him. He grasped his quondam employers hand with the close pressure of astonish-~ ment and pleasure. I shall bless the fates that sent me here, he said, though 1 came reluc- tantly enou~h. What is it, a business trip?~ asked Branwell, for,iving the interruption for the sake of aa hours chat with the secre- tary. And what are you doing now? Oh, I have subsided into a travelling a~ent for a manufacturing company in New York. I came back quite penniless from my Eastern travels, and was obli~ed to go to work in good earnest. Its devil- ish poor to be a poor devil. Can I help you any? asked Bran- well. Thank you, no; I am tolerably weli provided for at present. I only hope the stars hold a fortune in store for me. Thus strolling about the hotel grounds, the two men talked of many things, cur- sorily, with a passing interest in each. Leaning against the pillar of the piazza, with a bright moon shining full upon the face of his companion, who stood opposite to him, Morton suddenly said with his flip- pant pleasantness of manner: Apparently the world has been good to you, Branwell. Your face bears the years very well: that mysterious mar- raige h~ snt haunted you very severely, 1 flincy. Have you ever made the ac- quaintance of the bride? Never, was the cold response. What! cried Morton with vivacity Then my prophecy is not yet fulfilled; for I believe I predicted that some happy day you would chance to see her and fall in love with her. And I predicted that I should not, said Branwell. Well, it was one of the most absurd affairs I ever heard of, continued Mor- ton, throwing away a cigar and prepa~ing to light another. I am sorry you still continue so sensitive about it. What is the harm in your trying to see the gi1~l, and become acquainted with her? And Morton divided his conversation between his companion and the wreaths of smoke he was puffing. You forget, said Branwell, that 1 received a letter from her in which such a thing is forbidden. It would not he easy to transgress the desire she then express- ed, even if I wished to do so, which 1 do not. Pshaw! nothing in the world but woman s nonsense, said Morton with manly scorn. Id bet a fortune, if I had it, that she has repented writing that miserable letter. Its source could only have been a whim at the time. Do you think so? musingly asked Branwell, thinking of Miss Lorillard. Where is your wife? asked Morton. Branwell started at that wordit had never been said to him before. I dont know. You know the circum- stances too well to ask that, Morton. Morton laughed with a laugh that grat- ed upon his companions ears. You are a gallant fellow, he said. So, if you wanted to communicate with your wife, youd be obliged to resort to the detective force for aid. Branwell did not reply; his specula- tions were very bitter. lie did not like the conversation, but he was not surprised at the way Morton viewed his course. Morton, he said suddenly, you saw her; how does she lookdo you re- member? Yes, I remember very well indeed, was the emphatic reply. A man is not 72 THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. [JULY, apt to forget the handsomest woman he ever saw. I tell you, Branwell, I never pitied you for being blind so much as I did when you stood there so stolidly with that womans hand in yours. In spite of himself, Branwell could not help averting his eyes as a powerful and mingled emotion swept over him. In a moment he said: But that isnt describing he~ to me. I cant describe her, only in a general way; she gave me an idea of extreme beauty, without my having the power at that time to tell just what her features were. But I remember very distinctly that she was tall and graceful; that she was light, and had an abundance of beau-. tiful hair, and curious-colored eyes that almost seemed yellowvery much like her hairan unusual color, I thou~ht. She affected me even in that short time as being cultured in the highest de~ree every inch a ladya Howard de Howard in short; and Morton puffed away en- thusiastically upon his cigar. Branwells hand, thrust into the pocket of his sacque, clenched in a mute defiance of the fate thrust upon him, lie stood with eyes fixed absently upon space, thinking that here was a witness even more powerful than the silent ones he had found in his uncles desk. Apparently the fact that you are the husband of this beautiful woman does not exhilarate you, remarked Morton, gazing upon Branwell with astonish- ment. Branwell smiled coldly, as he said: Her beauty is nothing to me. It ap- pears, Morton, that you have a most su- perficial view of the case. To be frank with you, I must say I dont care to re- ceive any of the congratulations one of~ fers to a bridegroom. Hereafter you x ill remember that I have no xvifesave a legal claimant of my name and inheritor of my property. A nice little situation for one who wished to play the devil generally, said Morton with a satirical lauTh Branwell scanned the face turned care- lessly away. The moonlight does not re- veal plainly the finer character-marks upon a countenance, but Branwell saw what he thought were signs of more reck- less, dissipated living than when he had known him. Morton, Branwell said, I should say your travels had not improved your morals. I always thought you had the elements of a kind of dare-devil in you, and I am sorry to say they appear to have developed. Morton blushed behind his cigar. So you detect the hoof and horns, do you? he asked; then deprecatorily: But Im not such a bad fellow after all. In proof of which, I am very glad to have found you here, and shall take advantage of that excuse to remain as long as possi- ble. Are you here alone? No, I am the escort in general of an aunt, two cousins, and a lady friend of theirs. Will you go in and finish your smoke in my room? I believe not; I am tired and shall go directly to bed. I hope in the morning you will honor me with a presentation your fair charges. Good night. The two separated in the hall, and Mor- ton went up stairs; but Branwell retuin- ed to the piazza and lingered latest of all the loungers. In the morning, at breakfast, Branwell ~ atched the door for Mortons entrance, cnrious beyond words as to his appear- ance when he should see the lady whom he had described the night before. But,. as is often the case when one watches, the looked-for one did not come. Mr. Branwell, are you looking for a friend? asked Miss Lorillard after one of his glances at the door. I met an old acquaintance last night,, and Ive been betrayed into turning round to look fur him every time one has enter- ed, he answered. lie could not tell why, but he looked fully and suspiciously at his companion as he spoke. She met his glance with lim l)id eyes, making some commonplace re- mark as she did so. After breakfimst the ladies were in the parlor laying plans for the day. Branwell lounged round, expecting the appearanc& of Morton. At last Morton emerged from the break lust room, looked round, saw Branwell, and approached. I was expecting you, said Branwell, for I wanted to present you to the ladies before we went out, and invite you to ac- company us. Yes, I am impatient for that said Morton, fingering his watch chain If you will fbi-give a friends remark, nervously, hut I am afraid I shall not D 1872.1 THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. 73 be able to go out with you, as 1 have business this morning. Never mind, then. But you were a gallant fellow of old, responded Bran- well, and I know you want, to see the ladies. The two entered the parlor, where were half a dozen ladies reading and talking. fhough Branwell was conscious of the presence of all, yet he saw only Morton and Miss Lorillard. The latter was standing hy a window, and did not turn as the gentlemen came forward. Branwell saw Morton glance around the room, then his eyes fastened upon Miss Lorillard, whose fi~ure was clearly defined against the window, and his face lost its look of carelessness and became startled and ear- nest; he even made that involuntary cessa- tion of all movement which is so natural to surprise. It was evident that he felt Branwells eyes upon him, and it was pro- bably for that reason that he appeared lightly constrained, as an a.ctor will some- times appear. Mrs. Richmond met them near the door, nnd after a few words with her, they ad- vanced to Miss Lorillards side, who, knowin, that there were people in the room, did not notice their approach. Branwell touched her arm, sayin~: ~ Pardon me for interrupting a revery, but here is a friend of mine who wishes to know you. Miss Lorillard turned with a quickness ~ of motion unusual to her. Was it the abruptness of Branwells address that gave that look of something resembling dread and fear to her flice? l3ut it had left it instantly, and Brahwell did not see it, for his eyes were fastened upon Morton ~hile he presented him to the lady. Mortons face crimsoned as he met this lady face to face, and he bowed in such confusion that Branwell half pitied him; than he looked at Branwell as if beseech- ing to know how she came here, and if Branwell knew who she was. But Bran- wells face was impenetrable, save that it was vigilantly watchful. That expression seemed to restore Morton to his self-pos- session, and in a moment he was gay and nonchalant a~ am. As for Miss Lorillard, she greeted him cordially, as it becaaie her to a friend of Branwells, and suavely and graciously as it became herself. Branwell lingered near, joining in the conversation, betraying nothing of the con- flict within him. It was arranged that they should go down to the falls that morning. Morton could not go, and when Branwell saw him alone for a few moments after they left the parlor, neither said anything concerning the lady, and it was plain Morton had decided not to mention her, and Branwell tacitly acquiesced in that silence. It is not pleasant to visit some glorious shrine of nature with superficial souls like those embodied in the aunt and cousins Branwellwas obliged to escort, and he took refuge from their exclamations as they stood hy that eternal wonder of water, by turning to Miss Lorillard, assured that her tact, if not her feeling, would never allow one ill-timed word to be uttered in such a place. lie stood silently by her side while the garrulous ladies wandered along the banks, venting their admiration by interjections, which rasped upon his sensitive love for this place. Miss Lorillard, be said at last, turn- ing toward her where she stood leanin~ against a tree, a slight wind lifting the hair from her temples, her eyes fixed, with the languor that was now perceptible in them when she was quiet, upon the oppo- site shore, leaping by their glances beyond this scene into some imaginary worlda world inspired by the sound in her ears and the consciousness of where she stood; for whatever of principle she lacked, she had within her the fine appreciation of beauty which leads one to look for the sense of right which ought to underlie it. 11cr eyes brightened as she turned to Branwell, and listened to what he should say. lie saw that awakening lustre and felt that it was involuntary. I am going to propose that we go down into the Cave of the Winds, he said. Will you accompany me? Yes, was the unhesitating reply. But I warn you that the descent has an air of peril, if not its reality; that as a general thing ladies consider it proper to decline. I should like to go, she said; I am not nervous. Branwell went forward and invited the other ladies to accompany him, but re- ceived a horrified refusal. Half an hour after, clad in that grotesque costume of rubber, they were slowl~r de 74 THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. [JULT~ scending the path behind their guide. deprived them of all thou~ht, leaving All the pallor had fled from Miss Loril- only the mere fact of existence. They lards face; it glowed with bright color, stood with faces turned toward the sheet and her eyes shone in prospect of this of water which poured over the entrance slight excitement. Branwell could notbut a curtain of everlasting glory, misty, with notice, as he took her hand, how thin it a faint translucence that gave to the cay- had grown; and the thou~ht made him em a soft light, revealing its dark walls, pause and say: its mighty arch of roof. The deep, the This is thoughtless in me. This jour- unspeakable sound seemed not merely to ney is for your health, and I am taking hear but to be filled with, and to have you where your nerves will be strung to changed their existence to one in which an unnatural tension. the never ceasing roar was a condition of There was almost tender concern in his bein~. The warm summer land above was voice, and the tone made her e& es melt as far awaythat was a dream of prei~xis- she heard it. tence; and this cool place of mist and It was true there was something in this sound, of grandeur and novelty unuttera- man that affected her as she had never blethis was real, so real that whatever been moved before. Do I love him? an after life miuht be, this could never be she asked herself with a smile of amaze- effaced, never grow dim. ment and self-pity. For a time they stood without thinking You need not be anxio~s,she replied; of moving; then, with a deep breath, Miss my nerves are made of strong stuff. Lorillard raised her hands to her face, held It is not quiet, it is excitement that I~ them there a moment, and turned back need. I am dying of quiet. She spoke into the cavern with an awe that could the last hastily and with emphasis, as if hardly be called curiosity. she were speaking to herself; then break- A few yards behind her she dimly dis- ing into a smile as she saw his look of sur- cerned two more figures; they had then prised anxiety, she said: It is you who been preceded by others. She made a are to blame; you have taken a freak to step backward, resolutely battling with call me an invalid, and I am becoming the furious, rushing air that had been irritable like one. striving to take her breath. Branwell Branwell felt the spontaneous natural- did not notice her movement; the guide ness of her words; for the first time he was gesticulating concerning something. fancied that he noticed almost a haggard In that one step Miss Lorillard had look around her eyes. With a solicitous gained a glimpse, though indistinct, of smile that made his face very attractive, the figure of the woman who was stand- he drew nearer her, yielding to an unusu- ing with her guide but a pace or twe al feeling. He bent his head and kissed away. the fingers he heldkissed them with a With an - exclamation which, though long pressure that made her blush, and she smothered as it instantaneously was by was not an unsophisticated girl to blush at the winds, still reached Branwell, Miss a gallant touch. Lorillard pressed her hands together and Then he led her on, and they reached the almost fell to the rocky floor. But she rocks of the way, over which Miss Loril- fell into the arms of Branwell, who sup- lard sprang, eager to reach that cave of ported her for a moment, believing that sublimity, his fears were truethat she was too near- The rush, the swift, deep sound, as they ly ill to have come here. Her triumphant neared the entrance, did not disconcert resolution restored her to strength, or the her. And when they reached the sheet semblance of it, and their guide, with a of water, and plunged through a portion gesture of authority, threw his arms about of it, she felt Branwells arm about her, her and went toward the entrance, ]eav- though she felt stron~ of nerve enough to ing Branwell to follow as he best could. have pushed through that perilous place Pushing forward perhaps too carelessly unaided. that he might be near Miss Lorillard, Once past that strange portal, and they just at the entrance, ~where that column stood within the lofty cavern, mute, mo- of water falls, he slipped, and would have tionless. The thunder of the place, the fallen into some abyss of seething horror intensity of the rush, for the first instant had not a hand, firm as soft, seized and 1872.] THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. held him until he could steady himself. He thought there was somethin~ divine in the touch of that hand, for he had not known any one else was in the cave. Staggering, he yet turned his head par- tially, and, despite his wrappings, he dini- ly saw a slight figure close to him sup- ported by a guide. Then all three pushed on and reached at last the outside. It seemed to Branwell that he had been there hours, but it was only a few mo- ments. Following thd unknown and her guide, Branwell reached the path upon the land that led through the greenery. Up the path he saw Miss Lorillard sitting await- ing him, hut he turned back, curious to see the oman who had aided him. She was very near him, but he could s~e but little of her face, and that disguised by her uncouth garments. Though the aid you gave me was slight in itself, he said, extending his hand and touching her arm, yet it saved my life, and my gratitude is such that I plead for the privilege of knowing you. I thank you with the emotion of a heart whose dancer is yet near. You are then in love with life, she said; in that case I am glad my hand was ready. If I cannot see her face, I can at least remember her voice, he thought. He could not speak to her again, and he was vexed that he should have said but theveriest commonplaces. Miss Lor- illard was awaiting his return, seated on one of the benches by the path. Her guide stood near her, and was pouring forth a voluble description of some part of the scenery, but she did not hear a word. Her eyes were fixed with a strain upon the figures of the lady and her ~uide who were preceding Branwell up the path. The ungainly dress in which all were enveloped was a disguise, and yet Miss Lorillards nerves had become so un- reliable, from illness and excitement, that in this place they were constantly on the alert. The unknown lady stopped, pant- ing, to recover breath. She bent and picked a spray from the vine of an ever- lasting pea that hung drooping over the path. When she rose again she un- loosened the hood that confined her head and threw it back, and the flickering shade and sunlight fell upon her uncov- ered face. Thus she advanced alon_ the way and passed by Miss Lorillard, who sat utterly white upon her resting-place: it seemed as if she almost shrank as the girl passed, her dress just touching hers. As for the latter, she glanced casually at the lady sitting there, then glanced again with a quicker look of admiration, for Miss Lorillard too had thrown back her head-covering to give to her trembling lips all the air they could get. It seemed nothing; it was all in a mo- ment; and yet Miss Lorillard., half invalid as she was, leaned back, hurriedly breath- in,~, her very lips whitenin~,. Branwell came up instantly, in time to see the lady turning out of sight round the corner of the path. He had a rapid glimpse of dark hair, a dark face bent somewhat to the blossom she held in her hand, and she was out of si~bt. He turned to Miss Lorillard and uttered an exclamation of alarm as he saw her snowy face, the strange look of her eyes, which were fixed on him with an expres- sion he could not fhtbom. I cannot forgive myself, he cried, sit- ting down by her, taking her cold hand in his. It was I who urged you to this, and now you look as if all strength had left you. The unhappy woman struggled for the composure which she could not remember ever having so lost until at this time of all others, when s~e was so cursed with phy- sical weakness. At last, looking up in his face with a smile, she said It as riot your fault, Mr. Branwell. It is my own that I did not think of the reaction. But I do not regret it. It is worth shortening a lifetime to have stood within that cave. Shall we go on now? At supper Miss Lorillard did not ap- pear until late, but Branwell escorted his aunt in and sat down beside her. Per- haps he prided himself a little upon his ancestry on the side of the Branwells; any way, he was a trifle annoyed by the plebeian volubility of this aunt, who had none of the Branwell grandeur about her, heing no Branwell, but a half sister 6f his mothers, and her long residence in a dis- tant part of the country had assisted her in foraettin~ many of the customs of the best societysupposing she had ever moved in it. Branwell listened deferentially to her subdued rattle of conversation, not visibly 76 THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. [JULY, vexed until in an inadvertently loud voice she said: There is but one stranger at the table to-night. Do you see her, Williamthat dark girl near the fat gentleman? That the girl heard he could not but think, for she gave a furtive glance and a half smile up that way, then looked down again. Branwell did not know his look was so markedhis surprise and indig- nation prevented that. He saw it was the same girl he had met in the Cave of the Winds, and that fact made him scan her with a vivid interest, lie did not know what he had expected, hut he fan- cied he was a little disappointed. He saw a very dark face, yet not a Southern one; darkest hair without being black; a forehead wider and fuller than is the re- ceived standard for woman; horizontal brows; eyes which he could not see, save that they were fringed with darkness; a passable nose; lips that lacked tYie fell red- ness of Miss Lorillards, but that were thinner and of that deeper crimson of a brunette, and that had a sweetness and a pride, the latter enhanced by the firm cutting of the chin. She sat quietly waiting to be served. In the hasty look she had sent towards Mrs. Richmond, she had not noticed Bran- well, who had leaned far back in his chair; hut now, probably feeling the gaze upon her, she looked up suddenly, seeing him for the first time. A painful crim- sonand it did not seem that of con- fusion or resentment, but of superlative astonishmentcovered her face, even to her brow; then it subsided, leaving her white, but very quiet, with no other sign of emotion. Branwells gaze was with- drawn the moment she had looked~-i-~p, but he had seen thut blush, and wondered at it. Just then Miss Lorillard swept into the room, her toilet irreproachable, a forced animation in her face, a lustre in her eyes. Branwell thought as he watched her Who would not envy me the ri~ht of sayin.g of this woman, She is my wife?~ She came to the empty chair at Bran- wells right; with one hand on the chair, she glanced casually down the table until her eyes rested upon the dark girl whose large brown eyes were now raised and looking full at her. The servant, waiting respectfully until the lady should please to be seated, thou~ht she was thint, and instinctively reached her a glass of water. She sat down and raised the water to her lips, her heart whispering: The fates are a~ainst me; I can no longer trust to my self-possession, and Satan himself wills it that I love this man. Then she exchanged a few words with Mrs. Richmond, no frown ruffling her brow, her lips smiling, though a sharp physical pain, like a knife-blade, seemed stabbing her side through and through. You do not eat anything, said Bran- well at last; I shall soon consider that travel was precisely the thing you did not need. Miss Lorillard, to whom the act of swallowing had been almost beyond ac- complishment, was glad of the oppor- tunity of laying down her knife and fork, and saying: In truth Jam not hungry. Will you fill me a glass of wine? Holding the glass in her hand, Miss Lorillard smiled down into it, saying, as she saw the girl opposite rise: I have noticed a new face to-night, and but one, fora wonderthe girl just leaving the room. Who is she? do you know ? Miss Lorillard sipped her wine slowly as she listened, but she saw him watching the girl as she loft the room. She was almost as tall as Miss Lorillard, and her figure was as graceful, but with as dif- ferent a grace as were their faces. That youn~. lady must he remark- able, replied Branwell. My aunt in- stantly spoke of her, and now you ask who she is. I am sorry that I dont know. I only know that by a touch of fate she saved my life in the Cave of the Winds. I was going blunderingly over the edge of the rocks. She saved your life ! exclaimed Miss Lorillard, more moved by that announce- muent than he had expected. And what do you mean by a touch of fate ? she resumed more indifferently. Is she endowed with some magical power, and did she touch you with her wand? She was in the cave when we wer~ there ? Yes. To translate, she grasped my hand just as I was ready to fall, in con- sequencO of an ignorant step, and saved me. She must be a very muscular young lady, said Miss Lorillard. F 1872.] THE CAVE OF TIlE WINDS. 77 She was supported by her guide. Well, Mr. Branwell, do you know you have given me a very fine nucleus for a romance ? I am aware of that. Your phrase re- minds me of the time when you used al- most the same words to me, a long time ago, when I thought a few days would part us forever. She looked inquiringly, and he said: It Was on the steamer When I had told you of that strange case of a man who married a woman he had never seen. it was said wi~n such apparent uri- consciousness that Miss Lorillard felt the blow dumblywondering blindly what this man could mean. She bent her head to taste the wine again, saying: You have a remarkable memory. You cannot flatter me by saying you treasure all my sentences like that. Miss Lorillard escaped to her room as - soon as possible. She took from the trunk a case containing a row of small vials; from one she turned a few tiny pills, which she swallewed with a smile upon her lips that had already forgotten their wine and grown pale. These never fail me, she said, put- ting the vial hack, and lookin~ in the glass with a bitter contraction of her brows, as she saw the pallor of her face, a pallor that assailed even the mouth. Is Heaven sending me this stranne illness ? she exclaimed, or is it a pas- time of hell itself? What demon laughs when I stammer and change colori, whose coolness has been a marvel even to myself? The next day, at night, she was walk- ing down to the falls with Branwell, who remarked that he had been mistaken in his idea that travel was not good for her. She seemed almost to have recovered her health, for her face was brilliant with transparent carmine and white, her eyes were luminous and clear. From a turn in the path a figure emerged, and met theta in the way, Walk- ing rapidly toward the hotel. It was the girl whom thcy had met at supper the night before. Branwell turned to look after her, and Miss Lorillard said: You have doubt- less discovered the name of your pre- server No; have you been more fortunate ? Yes, thanks to the indomitableness of a womnns curiosity. She is a Miss Eytinge from Georgia. I fancied she was Southern, from her face. But I did not, said he. Is she here alone ? Apparently. But my researches did not go beyond my inquiries of a lady whom I know slightly. After my ques- tion she volunteered the information that Miss Eytinge is quite attached to the place, and spends a portion of her sum- mers here nearly every year. A devotee of the Falls. When they returned to the hotel, they saw this girl upon the piazza talking ani- matedly with a group of ladies and gentle- men, and Branwell, as he looked, hardly recognized it as the same face lie had seen in repose at the hotel table. FL ~h- in~, radiant, her whole face was illumin- ated by her eyes, by the play of lips; and the two new-comers heard her voice, a voice which it is impossible to describe, for there seemed both a womans arid a childs soul in itpure and soft, with a cadence like that in a gleeful childs tone, but with something runnin~, throu~,h it, a fibre of the intensest pride of woman- hooda suggestion of the possibility of the finest and prouacst ring; and withal a voice as utterly natural as if she was but five years old. Miss Lorillard listen~d for a moment, her face masked in polite interest. When the girl had finished her recital of the in- cident she was relating, Branwell said: Are you a judge of character, Miss Lorillard? Read me that ladys face. I should find nothing there but truth and honorperhaps an unusual richness of nature, was the replyMiss Lorillard well knowing that truth was her best policy. With a pang of absolute pain she saw the glow upon her companions face, and knew that she had but uttered his own thoughts. The group near them separated, and Miss Lorillard entered the house and went up to her chamber, feeling an impression that at this moment, notwithstanding all her wishes and all her power, the man whom she loved thought of this girl with an attraction stronger than she could ever make him feel. It was true, Bran- well lingered in the room as only l)eople in a hotel can lingerlistlessly, with no 78 THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. [JULY, apparent object. He was resolved upon knowing this girl whom Miss Lorillard had called Miss Eytinge, whose touch he remembered so well. At last he saw that one by one the people who surrounded her had sauntered away; she stood with one arm round a vine-wreathed pillar of the portico, her fingers hidden by the leaves, which drooped over her face also, as she looked outward upon the moonlit night, with an outlook which was faiiTltly a re- membrance of other scenes; while pene- trating everything of house or grounds, was the roar of the Falls. Branwell was but a few paces from her; as he looked, a strange, a powerfhl warmth penetrated his heart, an absolute longing to know her. lie would have given some part of his life to have held her hand fast clasped in his; and this feeling was so strong, so vivid, that he never thought of it as being strange or unusual. lie advanced to her side; she turned her eyes upon him without changing her position, and their glances met with that unfaltering, profound look with which those of soul kinship recognize each other. her eye~ were the first to fall, and as they did so, a pale, beautiful blush colored her face, which that moonlight was bathing in loveliness. Without thought of embarrassment, Branwell drew nearer and held out his hand, saying: Give me leave to present myself as one who owes such gratitude that he waives ceremony; for I cannot, unconven- tional as is the fact, feel a stranger to you. Every accent conveyed to the listening girl a conviction of his sincerity. She placed her hand in his, but she did not immediately speak. The touch of that hand to him, the sense of holding it for one fleeting instant in his own, palm to palm, softly and warmly, thrilled through his heart with a power that nothing had ever made him feel before. His gray eyes poured light upon herthe light of an indestructible interest, an endless good- will. Branwell felt a relief which he did not at first acknowledge for what it was the reaction from the society of Miss Loril- lard, which had held him in fetters forged by art. Here he felt the untrammelled sense of nature, exquisite, refined to the last degree, but as truly nature as the rose that blooms double and glowing in the garden is verily as much a rose as the paler sister that blooms by the dusty road. lie did not think of suspecting the genuineness of the girl whose hand he had just touched, any more than he would have questioned the .purity of a lily. For the time, as he stood with her, he entirely forgot the existence of Miss Lorillard. Our meeting was in so strange a place that We might easily be justified in becoming acquainted without the aid of conventional usages, she said, in assent to his words. Then I may consider that we are legitimately acquainted, so. that 1 shall have no fears of heing passed by unrecog- nized in the future? You shall have no fears, she replied. It is then a compact? It is a compact, was the answer. Just then two ladies rustled along the piazza and out on to the path that led across the lawn. They were Miss Loril- lard and Mrs. Richmond. The eyes of the former, though she was evidently giv- ing all her attention to her companion, saw the two standing by the pillar, saw the something indescribable in Branwells manner which told the attraction he felt. The glance of his companion followed the two ladies until they were out of sight, then she turned to the gentleman and s~iid: There seems something familiar to me about that beautiful ladysomething, it seems to me, more in the peculiar grace of her manner than in her face. I must have dreamed of her, or beheld her in that life which we fancy we have lived be- fore.~ Branwells face showed that the cur- rent of his emotions had been turned to some gloomy channel; the bright light had gone out, and the girl looked in sur- prise at him. Who is she? she asked. She is Miss Lorillard, he said, and noticed that she started perceptibly as he replied. Miss Lorillard? Where is her home? In Massachusetts, I believe. Is it possible that you have met her? he asked rapidly. No, oh no; it was a dream. But she is a countrywoman ofmine. He looked up in unmitigated astonish- ment. 1872.] TIlE CAVE OF THE WINDS. A countrywoman? But I thought you were Southerna Georgian.~~ That must be the fault of my com- plexion, she replied smiling, I am a Yankee. Ere Miss Lorillard returned from her walk with Mrs. Richmond, Branwell had left his new acquaintance, and Miss Loril- lard saw her reading in the parlor as she passed by the door. Mrs. Richmond went on up stairs, but Miss Lorillard stopped involuntarily at the door and looked in at the room entirely deserted, save for the girl, who leaned back in an easy-chair, her eyes upon the book she held. Light- ning gleamed in Miss Lorillards gazea scathin ~, lurid look that might have blasted her on whom it was directed. One swift shot of a pistol held in my hand, shethought. Now I could do it; not a nerve would tremble; but I never, never shall. If bate could kill! He has seen her, he will love her. What a rival Ihave! Miss Lorillard stood as if fascinated. Suddenly the girl raised her eyes and en- countered that look. It sent a shudder through her; but the look~before she had hardly seen it, glanced off, and wan- dered round the room as if in search of some one; then Miss Lorillard glided up stairs. The girl dropped her book, rose and walked to the door, looking up to s~ again that face so evil in its beauty; but it had gone, and she commenced walking up and down the room with a slow pace, each step seemin~, a thought of Miss Loril- larda wonder in what way their lives could clasha fear, and then a proud self- reliance. The girls thoughts wandered back to all the days of her past lifedays which her own superabundant vitality had filled with freshness and happiness, though the incidents were few. It was Miss Lorillard who had sent her thoughts back- ~vard,~filling her mind with a wonder, an unsatisfied curiosity, for which she could find no reason. The next day, and the days that fol- lowed, revealed to this girl that Miss Lorillard loved Branwellrevealed it with a clearness that was undoubted, in spite of the suave concealment that was a part of Miss Lorillards nature. And those days showed also to Miss Lorillard that Branwell, whose manner had almost promised a tenderness to her before he had seen this stran~er, was under an in- fluence before which her powers were powerless; that he was drawn unwitting- ly to the side of the girl; that he listened to her voice as he had never even in his most infatuated moinent5 listened to the woman who would have sold her soul to charm him; and more than all, Miss Lorillard knew that he did not know his own heart, for his feelings had not re- called to him the tie that bound him. She had studied well the character of this girl who suddenly appeared; she knew the pride that had hitherto control- led her life, and she knew also that no emotion of tenderness had previously risen to be battled withnever yet at least. With death in her heart Miss Lorillard cursed the mischance that had brought about this meeting just as success seemed for the first time faintly dawning npon her. Now she had a double force to fight his indifference to her and his growing interest in the stran~,er. But with a per- severance, an energy that well might promise success, she was prepared to forge the last link in that chain she had been weaving; and doubly stron~ should that chain be, for she loved Branwell with a streng~th that sometimes comes to those false and hollow in every other way. how happily the days of Thalaba went by. Life for Branwell had waited until now; now its fruit had ripened. Hi~,h in the purple heavens swung the censer of love, and its perfume filled the air. The hour of dearest romance, of profoundest feeling had dawned for him, and blindly he knew it not. It was this ignorance that made his happinessa vague feeling that filled him, and for the time gave no room for doubt or regret. He sought this stranger every day. His aunt had taken no fancy to her and did not cultivate her at all, for which Branwell was grateful. It was surprising how Miss Lorillard, health bad improvedapparently. There was a flush and a brilliancy about her, thotigh she grew thinner and thinner. At first she had proposed that they leave Niagara and go on, but Mrs. Rich- mond was charmed with the place, and could not think of leaving; and was not Miss Lorillards health improving; and Miss Lorillard would not go and leave Branwell there. A month, two months passed. Flitting 80 THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. [JULY, travellers at the Falls mi~ht see the same party daily at the table of the CHouse. 4 Mrs. Richmond, at last tired of the place, was proposing a change, to which her nephew listened with so much indiffer- ence that the lady was almost despairing. Meanwhile, Branwell for the first time in his life felt it almost impossible to leave a place which still held a woman for whom his interest was becoming uncontrollable. At that first mention of departure, the cloud of soft oblivion which bad hidden his past and concealed his present feel- ings from him broke apart, and its rifts discovered to his soul a feeling which had possessed all his faculties so completely that he had uiiot recognized it. And for the first time since his marriage he really felt his chains. That evening he had been walking by the river with his new friend. His newly awakened consciousness gave him some- thing of a distrait air, and a painful and penetrating silence fell upon them. Bran- well felt that he could not be in this girls presence without betraying what he felt, and he shrank from such a confession. That night, as he stood with her hand in his to bid her good-iight, he had re- solved that he should leave the place on the morrow. Perhaps that resolution gave a strength to his eyes and voice, an inflection to his words that was as impos- sible to quell as to subdue the pulses that throbbed, the wild wishes that clamored to be expressed. But he said nothing; his words were the common farewell of a friend, and one overhearing them would not have said, That man loves her, un- less his burning glance had told the story. My good-night is my farewell, be said at last, for I go away to-morrow. Her pride rose to prevent the betrayal of anything beyond an ordinary warmth of feelin~. He perceived it without know- ing its cause, and his soul seemed frozen within itself. Good-by, she said, her hand drop- ping from his, and her head turned, look- ing off beyond into some invisible land into which he could not enter. She showed no surprise that he was going, and asked no questions. Yet still he lingered, with a desperate feelin~ that he must say one word more, though what he hardly knew. If 1 could tell you of the many things in my heart, Miss Eytinge, he said hur- riedly, wondering what there could be in his words to cause that surprised arch of eyebrows; then leaving everything, he said again, Good-by, and left her. Hurryin~ up the stairs, in the upper hall he met Miss Lorillard, who said: I was waiting for you. May 1 see you a few moments? Branwell, full of other tbou~hts, think- ing with despairing happiness of the last touch of the hand he had .just relinquish- ed, the glance of eyes he had fore~,one for- ever, would have excused himself for the present; but looking at his companion, he saw that some deep resolutiofr had in- duced the request, and with cold polite- ness he replied that he was at her service. She led the way to a private parlor, and sat down by a table instantly, as if fear- ing that she could not support herself. 11cr manner was very composed, however, and full of hauteur. Branwell stood by the empty fireplace, leaning upon the mantel, waiting her words. It was hard for her to break the silence, but at length she said: 1 have a communication to make to you, which, howevei strange and un- womanly it appears, you will acknowl- edge that it is incumbent upon me to makethough I have hesitated long. She paused to think of the exact words she wished. Branwell in a cold, hard tone, said: I listen. He was determined not to help her in the least. It is not likely that you have forgotten the circumstances of your marriage, she said, leaning her arm on the table and resting her l~ad on her hand, though her eyes were fixed upon his face. He bowed and said: I remember. I need not recall that stormy night on the Massachusetts coast, that little farm- house, that blind bridegroom, that mar- riage wherein the bride first learned some- thing of the nobleness of him sh~ had married. William Branwell, I am that wifethat wife whose pride prompted the letter she sent you, bat whose heart was touched by your words, your face, even on that first night that she saw you. But 1 had placed the barrier between us, and I could not bearthat pity, that duty, should make you kind to me. Before I saw you, I thought that nothing could induce me to feel differently from the feelings I ex- pressed in that letter; but from that first D 1872.] THE CAVE OF THE~ WINDS. 81 meeti% on the evening of our marriage, I felt that it mi,,ht be possible that I should repent penning those words. Do not think me unwomanly, for in my heart of hearts I do not feel that I am. I could not bear to present myself as a stranger to you, declaring myself your wife. I re- tained my maiden name and purposely embarked in the same steamer for Amer- ica. I rarely lost sight of you for long at a time. I usually knew where you were, and at last I decided to become acquaint- ed with you, to let you see Mrs. Branwell, for I knew you could not know her. Her voice wavered a little and she colored sli~htly as she went on. I did not know but some kind thoughts of me might come to you; for it is true that some have seen that in me which at- tracted themmen for whom I could not care. It appears reserved for the man I marriedof all men whom I have inti- mately knownto be indifferent to me. Branwell had left his position opposite to her and was walking back and forth, his head bent, listening to these words. There was no tenderness in him for her; now that she had said this, she even re- pelled him. He would have given worlds had it been otherwise, but he could not help it. He looked at her without stopping his walk, and said hardly: You are then my wife? You were Fermor Lorillard, my uncles ward? Her eyes, large and bright, met his. I am your wifeI was Fermor Loril- lard. You have said it. He ignored all the suggestions of ten- derness that had been in her words. Now lina~y he was to have the truth, the plain truth, and no more suppositions. He stopped and leaned his hand on the table opposite her. This is a serious affair, he said. You do not expect me to accept a story of such a transaction without proofs? Assuredly not. The most full and satisfactory? Certainly. Miss Lorillard rose and looked at him. Branwell. could not help being stirred by admiration, and she saw it. Mr. Branwell, she said, does no instinct, no intuition tell you that what I have said is true? You wish me to reply with simple truth? Her lips trembled slightly as she said: Yes, the truth. Well, then, on the contrary, all the instincts of my nature tell me it is not true. She held tightly by the chair in which she had been sitting. That is because you do not love ~ she said. He was silent, and after a moment she said: I would say nothin~, as if I re- proached you. Question me, for I feel unable to talk unless you do. We will send for Morton, who was one of the witnesses, he said. I left with Mrs. Branwell the certificate of our - marriage. Has she it still? She would not have easily parted with it, said Miss Lorillard, walking toward the door and leaving the room. Branwell heard her go to her room. When there she poured some wine into a glass and drank it hastily, then took a paper from her desk and retraced her steps. Meanwhile Branwell had been standing almost motionless by the table, his soul struggling with the cloud of dark- ness that enveloped it. His whole exist- ence refhsed this destiny thrust upon him. He fought with it as if he would awaken from a dream, horrible as it was real; and from amid all he saw one face, heard one voice, for whose smiles, for whose words he would have perilled all he held dear. And when Miss Lorillard entered he started as if she had not been one of the most beautiful of women. She had a paper in her hand, which she held toward him in silence, lie took it, detesting it with unreasonable hatred. lie read itevery word. This certifies that the rite of Holy Matrimony has been celebrated between Mr. William Bran. well of Dorchester, B. P., and Miss Fermor Lor- illard of C, Massachusetts, on the 15th of October, 18, at C, Massachusetts. By Rev. B. W. Wrayburn. Witness: John Morton. Witnesses: Louise Clitheroe, Mrs. Hannah Trask. He gave it back to her saying: What you have said appears in every way reasonable. I do not dispute it. We ill wait Mortons arrival. He was to have been back to-day. Then seeing the dis- tressed look upon her face he continued: You will pardon me my seeming in- credulity. I could not hut ask for proofs concerning the most importiint incident in my life. THE CAVE OF THE WINDS. 82 Believe me, she said earhestly, I would not have it otherwise. I would not wish you to take my mere word for what I tell you. As she uttered that phrase, he thought how different it would he did he love her, with what intensity of happiness he should have read that certificate which now seemed a paper of doom to him. He thought with desperation that he never would acknowledge this woman as his wife never, though all the world united to de- clare the fact to him. She had seated herself again in the chair; but now she shaded her eyes with her hand. The wine she had drunk hard- ly increased the excitement she felt. lEvery drop of blood in her seemed hound- ing with such fiery throbs as almost suf- focated her; her lips and cheeks burned hotly, her eyes glowed, but outwardly she was calm. It was he who stood with glit- tering eyes, the effort at calmness plainly visible. This hour of all the hours in his lit~ was hardest to bear. He was vainly struggling for some honorable retreat, some ray ~f light to illumine this black- ness; bet he saw no retreat, no light, nothing hut to endure, to shut forever from his thou~hts every remembrance of the girl he had just met, for thoughts of her only made more unendurable his fu- ture. He did not think how hard, how icy he must appear to this woman, who in her own words told him that she loved him; he only thought of her un- welcome claim upon him; he only rebelled fiercely against the fate he had yoked to himself when he had promised his uncle; but he never would have known the in-. tensest bitterness of that fate had he not loved. You delayed telling me this, he said at last, as if asking a questionalmost as if reproving her. I told you that I could not hear to thrust a wife upon you, until I had tried if you might i~ot become in the least in- terested in her; and as I have failed in [JULY that, I mi~ht never have spoken to you. did not circumstances make me deem it necessary. ~ ~There was some appearance of embar- rassment as she said the last words, and Branwell said hastily: You mean to intimate to me that I have given you reason to fear I might forget the bonds that hold methat I might become dishonorable? Never the last! she cried impul- sively; I only knew that your marriage had been such a myth to you that an im- pression might he received too easily cherished even without your knowled~,e. I will confess it was that feara fear that your happiness might he compromised that assisted me to make this avowal to you. You can readily believe that I knew how unwelcome it would be. She said the last with a deprecatory motion that still had something of stateliness in it. She had risen and stood before him. At least, he replied, it was not unexpected. She moved toward the door: with her hand on the latch she paused and said, with slow distinctness: Having now done what I felt due to you and myself, I have nothing more to say on the subject. You will institute any iuvestigation for which ypu feel in- clined. I have one thing to beg, how- ever, that you will not imagine I have told you this to exact anythin~ from you. It seemed right that you should know. Stay one moment, he cried, for me to say that any one who hears my name will not lack any attention I can consistently give. I have much to say to you at some future time.,~ She bowed and left the room. She had been right in judging that pecuniarily at least the wife of Branwell would nGt want, and that the safest as well its the easiest way had been to leave such ar- ran~em~nts to his own sense of appropri- ateness. MARIA LOUISA POOL. TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. BAAL IN ATLANTIS. O Nthe 16th day of October, 1869, there was exhumed in the town of Lafayette, on the banks of the Onondaga river, near the pres- ent Indian reservation, thir- teen miles from Syracuse, and some fifteen miles from the fa- mous Salt Springs of Sauna, New York, a colossal statue, apparently of great age and of unknown type. It was found a few rods from the bank of the river, on the edge of a level plain elevated a few feet above the pres- ent bed of the river. The statue was lying with head to the east, a little south. A hemlock tree had fallen, or had been felled, in a north and south direction, clearin,, the head of the statue in falling, but throwing a stout branch entirely across the breast, above it by some two inches. It was found impossible to remove the statue without cutting away this branch. The statue was found at a depth of five feet below the surface. It lay in a bed of gravel, which, with the tree, was covered by an alln~ial deposit some two feet deep, As the trunk of the tree was between two and three feet in diameter, it follows that the tree must have lain upon the surface at a period when the statue lay upon the surface, and that both tree and statue had been alike subject to deposition of allu- vium, and that the statue, if buried at all, was buried by bein~, laid upon the sur- face of the ground and sli~,htly covered with gravel. When it was first disclosed there were traces of decomposed vegetable fibre covering its surface, and appearing in the earth immediately in contact, which led to the sng~estion being made at the time, that when buried it had been cov- ered with leaves and twigs, before the gravel had been thrown over it. The statue is a colossal monolith, ten feet four and one-half inches in length, and weighs 2,990 pounds. Upon the ri~,ht arm, midway between the elbow and the shoulder, is the following inscrip tion in Phoenician alphabetical charac ters: LORD TAMMUE OF THE HEAVENS. TEE I3AAL. The letters of this in- ~ scription read from right to left. They are thitteen in number, introduced by a large cross or star, the As- Syrian index of Deity. This star is situated above and to the right of the highly ornamental initial letter. The whole inscription is undoub t- edly an ar- tistic spe- cimen of the sa- cred or hi era tic writing of the Pheenici- ans. Be- sides the index cross or star, it contains a fi o w e r symbol before the last word or title, s epa rat- ing it from the p r e c e ing. This symbol may rep- resent the flower c onsecrat- ed to the parjicula r deity Tam muz. T h e i n- 5 0 F ~ ) N N H z S N S H 0 N S

TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. BAAL IN ATLANTIS. O Nthe 16th day of October, 1869, there was exhumed in the town of Lafayette, on the banks of the Onondaga river, near the pres- ent Indian reservation, thir- teen miles from Syracuse, and some fifteen miles from the fa- mous Salt Springs of Sauna, New York, a colossal statue, apparently of great age and of unknown type. It was found a few rods from the bank of the river, on the edge of a level plain elevated a few feet above the pres- ent bed of the river. The statue was lying with head to the east, a little south. A hemlock tree had fallen, or had been felled, in a north and south direction, clearin,, the head of the statue in falling, but throwing a stout branch entirely across the breast, above it by some two inches. It was found impossible to remove the statue without cutting away this branch. The statue was found at a depth of five feet below the surface. It lay in a bed of gravel, which, with the tree, was covered by an alln~ial deposit some two feet deep, As the trunk of the tree was between two and three feet in diameter, it follows that the tree must have lain upon the surface at a period when the statue lay upon the surface, and that both tree and statue had been alike subject to deposition of allu- vium, and that the statue, if buried at all, was buried by bein~, laid upon the sur- face of the ground and sli~,htly covered with gravel. When it was first disclosed there were traces of decomposed vegetable fibre covering its surface, and appearing in the earth immediately in contact, which led to the sng~estion being made at the time, that when buried it had been cov- ered with leaves and twigs, before the gravel had been thrown over it. The statue is a colossal monolith, ten feet four and one-half inches in length, and weighs 2,990 pounds. Upon the ri~,ht arm, midway between the elbow and the shoulder, is the following inscrip tion in Phoenician alphabetical charac ters: LORD TAMMUE OF THE HEAVENS. TEE I3AAL. The letters of this in- ~ scription read from right to left. They are thitteen in number, introduced by a large cross or star, the As- Syrian index of Deity. This star is situated above and to the right of the highly ornamental initial letter. The whole inscription is undoub t- edly an ar- tistic spe- cimen of the sa- cred or hi era tic writing of the Pheenici- ans. Be- sides the index cross or star, it contains a fi o w e r symbol before the last word or title, s epa rat- ing it from the p r e c e ing. This symbol may rep- resent the flower c onsecrat- ed to the parjicula r deity Tam muz. T h e i n- 5 0 F ~ ) N N H z S N S H 0 N S 84 TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. [JULY, tion begins with a double and ends with a triple alphabetical character, which latter is also a serpent monogram and symbol of Baal, containing within it- self the double triangle, also the symbol of Baal. The different words or tifles are upon different levels, separating them from each other, and presenting the ap- pearance of a series of curves. The inscription, as above given, was taken by measurement from a number of impressions in wax, or squeezes, and gives a true tdea of the size, arrangement of let- ters, and space occupied, inclusive of the index cross or star.* The letters are in- cised, varying somewhat in original depth of cutting, and are till more or less affect- ed by time. The large index cross or star is deeply cut, and different parts of the four lobes or limbs, varying in distinctness, fill out one another, and admit of a restoration of the original outline, notwithstanding the entire obliteration of~ome portions. The peculiar wavy track of the inscrip- tion, terminating in a serpent monogram and symbol, may be explained by its sa- cred or hieratic character. Among the Phoenicians the serpent was honored as a symbol of divine wisdom, because, being destitute of the usual means of locomotion, he was supposed to move by direct spirit- ual force. The discovery of letteis was attributed by the~ to the serpent god Taaut, the god of intelligence and wi~- dom, who first inscribed the pillars and statues of the gods with hieratic writing, and invented for cach particular deity a mystical letter or monogram. According to Movers, The track of alphabetical writing was held to be an imitation of the manifold curviu~s and windings of the di- vinely honored serpent, and Philo By- blius says: The first letters were thosd which the serpent, through the windings of his body, marked out, which are found copied in the temples, and to which, as symbols of the gods, men render divine honor. The serpent was also honored as a symbol of immortality or eternity, bein~ supposed never to die, but to per- petually renew his own life. A circle- formed serpent with tail in mouth was with the Phoenicians, as well as with the Egyptians, a symbol of eternity. Be~ides the index cross or star, the flower sign, and the serpent symbol, there appear to * The drawing as here given has necessarily been reduced about one-third. [ED. GALAXY. be other symbols or emblems upon the right arm of the statue, which are re- served for further investigation. Every Phoenician inscription has cer- tain peculiarities of its own, and contrib- utes its share to the vocabulary and the grammar of the language. It is a strik- ing feature in this case, that the letters which repeat are given in each instance in a different type form. The final four letters, including the serpent symbol, sug- gest many questions of interest in regard to the monogram of Baal, and offer to the consideration of the grammarians a new example of a controverted use of the defi- nite article. A Phoenician inscription is not in any case easily gotten up. The conditions in which this particular in- scription appears upon the statue, under the microscope, are such as to preclude the possibility of its havin~ been placed there within any recent period. It is only some thirty years since the Phoenician al- phabet was first classified by Gesenius. This inscription could not be made up to- day out of any collated alphabets that ex- ist, the form and arrangement of the let- ters being peculiar and yet distinctly Phoenician. The substance of the statue is a pure or nearly pure sulphate of lime, and was ori~inally, therefore, snow white. It does not effervesce under acids, and gives no indication of the presence of carbonate. There is extending over the whole finished surface of the statue, a remarkable net- work of cells, in regard to which we sub- join the following letter from Professor Moses C. White, M. D.: NEW HAVEN, CT., July 29, 1871. Professor A. Mc0horter. DEAR SIR: In March last I visited the rooms of Mr. Gott, in this city, where I saw the Onon- daga statue, which I had been led to suppose was simply abumbug, made to deceive the pub- lic and to obtain money by exhibition. I was at once struck with the majestic beauty of the fig- ure, which in many particulars appeared to me to have been made by an artist of high order; hut as I claim no special skill in judgin~ 6f works of art except as I see conformity to nature in an- atomical details, I will only call attention to some facts which I discovered by a close inspec- tion of the surface with magnifying glasses. The first thin I noticed was~hat the finished surface was everywhere studded with what ap- peared like pin-holes. These holes were gener- ally about a quarter or an eighth of an inch apart. Sometimes two holes were found so near together that the septum was not more than one- fiftieth of an inch in thickness. These holes look almost exactly like the holes made by the little borer which Ilenetrates the shell and do- D TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUiLDERS. stroys the oyster. On closer inspection with an achromatic glass, magnifying fifteen diameters, it was seen that the holes above mentioned were rounded outward at their orifices, never pre- senting a sharp edge, nor any appearance of conipression, such as would he seen by driving in a needle or other sharp instrument. The out- ward finish of these pin-holes as I call them) was much as it would he if a thin deposit of lime had been formed over the surface after the holes had been bored or otherwise opened in the sur- face. I should state, however, that in two or three cases on the under surface (or back part) of the statue I found such small holes with a whitish areola around them, such as might be expected if the holes had been formed hy driv- ing needles into the calcareous surface. The holes were from one-twentieth to perhaps a tenth of an inch in depth. The holes may be deeper than I have stated, but filled up at the bottom with dirt accumulated from the soil where the statue was buried. Generally the pin- holes were destitute of any regularity in their arrangement, hut in one place I counted ten boles nearly in straight line within the distance of one inch. On what are called the corroded or eroded portions of the statue, i. e., where the surface is not finished, there are (in general) no pores or pin-holes; yet even on these rough por- dons the pin-holes above described are occa- sionally found. On first examining these pin-holes with a magnifying glass, I was struck with astonish- ment, and mentally exclaimed, These pores were surely never made by human hands! How can this beautiful piece of statuary be of modern origin? To me, the pin-holes, rounded out as they are, appear to be the work of insect borers, and give evidence of ancient origin. I looked at these pin-holes (I mean the surface of the statue, so closely studded with minute holes) hour after hour. I went again the next day and spent hours looking at the minute holes, under powerful illumination, and with achromatic glasses magnifyin~ forty-five diameters; and still the beautiful finish of every pore or pin-hole appeared to me strongly opposed to the idea that the statue was of modei-n workmanship. I can- not say that it was not made (as some claim it was) within two or three years, but I could not ~be satisfied with any such view. I hear that some learned men think the holes were made with needles. I have tried making needle-holes upon limestone and upon gypsum, hut I cannot pro(iuce such holes as I find upon the statue. If the statue is of ancient origin, and if the holes were made by insect borers, why are not the holes as numerous on the eroded portions as on the polished surface? This question I cannot answer. Unfortunately the statue was removed from the city before I had time to examine it as much as I would have done if opportunity had permitted. Pondering upon these observations during the months that have elapsed since I saw the statue, I have been led to inquire whether such pin- holes are found on other varieties of alabas- ter or limestone. A few days since I found in my cabinet a small piece of limestone, con- taining, I think, both sulphate and carbonate, taken from an islandin the Ohio river where it 6 flows between Ohio and Kentucky, and on a surface containing petrifactions. I find holes exactly similar to those which are so abundant on the Onondaga statue. The rounding out of these holes at their orifices (in the Ohio speci- mens) is accomplished by the deposit of a car- bonaceous layer upon the surface of the stone, as can be seen by fracturing the surface where the holes appear. The press of other duties has prevented rue from pursuing these investiga- tions as 1 could wish. I should like very much to see the statue again, and especially to see the whole under surface, and also to search by care- fiil washing, to find whether the pin-holes are not really present even on the eroded surfaces. In addition to what I have st~ted above, I would add that I examined the outer portion of the ri,,ht humerus, and looked at the markings or carvin~s that you, sir, I think, first conjec- tured minht be an inscription;* and though I saw no recent tool marks, I saw evidences of de- sign in the form and arrangement of the mark- ings, which suggested the idea of an inscription. Between the characters I found the same pin- holes as on the other parts of the statue. The edges of the charact~s were also rounded over, entirely different from the rough surfaces to which allusion has been made in this paper. I did not find pin-holes in the bottoms of the ex- cavated portions of the inscription. This in- scription, if inscription it shall prove to be, pre- sented under the magnifying glass no evidence of recent tool-marks. Where the right arm lies across the body of the statue, along the inside of the arm, there are scratches, perhaps tool- marks, perhaps scratches made in cleaning off the earth and clay which must have adhered to the statue when first uncovered. You will at once understand from the reason- ings which have thus arisen from the observa- tions here recorded, that I am by no means pre- pared to adopt as settled the opinion of some oh- servers, who claim that the Onondaga statue was constructed in modern times. I am not, on the other hand, certain that it is a work of an- cient art. When, how, where, and by whom the Onondaga statue was constructed, are questions which I consider worthy of the most careful investigation by the most skilful and learned abtiquarians. Though not fully decided I incline to the opinion that the Onondaga statue is of ancieat origin. Yours, vei-y truly, Mosas C. WHIvE, M. D., Prof. of Pathology and Microscopy in Yale Col. * Dr. White is in error here. Many persons had previously noticed the undulating line of marks upon the right arm, and had suggested the possibility of an inscription. Some had gone so far as to point out what they supposed might be separate letters; but as there were twig- like marks of erosion surrounding and confus- ing the wavy track, to the eye and to the judg- ment, I requested Dr. White to bring hi~ micro- scope to bear. His decision that there were cuttings, with evidences of design in the ar- rangement, and with every presumption from the condition of the surface, that the incisions were of ancient date, constituted in my mind the first real basis for serious investigation of the subject as an inscriptionM. W. 1872.] 86 TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. [JULY, The statue is a complex, mytholo~ical figure, which we shall describe according to photographs impossible to introduce here, and then speak of the cultus to which it b~longs, by which alone it can be understood. It is properly a statue, but appears on the sides as an alto-relievo, from having been cut away from some original con- stituent parts. That it has been thus cut away is evident, for the lines of the cutting are distinctly seen upon the left side of the foreshortened fig- ure. That it belongs to the winged or cherubim type, appears from the fact that from the shoulder down the whole length of the left side of the figure ~re seen outlines of folded wings, even the separate feathers being distinctly trace- able down to the carefully cut triangular point on the heel. Thebackpartof the head has also been cut away, probably from asec- ond pair of smaller wings. There is upon the right side of the head, which originally lay buried in its right wing, a little bud- ding horn folded fiat against the head. In cutting away the right head wine,, great care appears to have been taken to leave this projection, a deep gouge directly be- low throwing it out in high relief, as seen when standing on the right side of the statue. The head has a dual characterthe left side, or the one presented to the spec- tator, being inexpressibly noble and ma- jestic, while the side upon which the~ horn is seen has the true satyr expres- sion. In its high, round, cannon-ball shape, it conforms remarkably to the type head of the mound-builders as ~iven by Professor Wilson of the University of Toronto (Smithsonian Report, 1862, Physical Ethnology, p. 241). The Scioto mound cranium, the best authenticated and most character- istic of the crania of the mound~builders,* when discovered, lay imbedded in a com- pact mass of carbonaceous matter, inter- mingled with a few detached bones of the skeleton, and some fresh-water shells. Over this had been heaped a mound of rough stones, on the top of which, incov- ered by the outer layer of clay, lay a large plate of mica, that favorite material of the ancient mound-builders. * Rev. Edward Dunning, of New Haven, Con- necticut, hasTh his possession sever. I crania of the above type, taken by himself during the past year from mounds iu Tennessee. The statue is wrought with wonderful anatomical accuracy, even where it varies from the outline of the human form with symboli& ntent, the anatomy being adapt- ed to the expression of such intent. The right han4 of the statue, resting lightly upon the body,* is finished with accurate and elaborate detail and in excellent pro- portion, while the left arm thrust under- neath the figure terminates in what ap- pears ~o be a hu,,e expanded lions paw, with claws extended as if to grasp the curved top of some columnar support of the recumbent figure, 50 far elevating it as to admit of passing beneath and giving view of the back, which is finished, except where it has been cut away from its sur- roundings, with the same careful atten- tion to detail as the front. The dual idea expressed in the head is carried out in the figure, which can only be understood by bearing this in mind. Dividing the statue lon,,itudinally, each half harmonizes with itself throughout. Divided transversely according to the Greek method, it is wholly incomprehen- sible. The parallel cuttings upon the side of the left foot, and the spread of the feet, with the circular peg-marks upon the bottom of the feet, indicate them to have been originally clamped upon some com- pleting objectprobably a sphere of suf- ficient size and weight to balance the head in fact and to the eye. The statue is shown by its lines to have been recum- bent, and the arrangement for a pivotal columnar support at the back wsuld re- quire this balance. There is in the head of this recumbent statue also a dual expression of death and lifedivine repose in death on the divine side, and a satyrs leer upon the human side. In the wonderfully artistic mouth of the divine side we find a sug- gestion of the origin of that of the Greek Apollo. There is a crescent-shaped wound uison the left thigh, of the size that might have been made by the tusk of a wild boar. The statue has been tinted, and whatever the coler originally, it has now become a uniform granite gray. The nails of the fingers and toes are of a dark reddish purple. In the opening of the nostrils there are traces of pink. The * Precisely in the position of the lem hand of the statuette of Amoun-Ra, the living and dead Osiris, or Sun God. Gallery of Antiquities, Egyptian, British Museum, Plate 3, Fig. 4. ) 1872.] TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 87 dark surface, where abraded, shows a statue. We shall make frequent use in creamy yellow tint beneath. Where ac- this article, of the authority of M. Le- cidentallystruck entirely through, itshows normant, Ancient History of the East, and an ala1~aster white substance. This yel- of Movers, Die Phiinizier. lew tint may indicate the presence of the The only description of the ancient yellow glaze described by Layard as pro- Phoenician statues which has come down tecting the Behistun iuscription. to us, is that contained in the fragments The substance of the statue being pure of Sanchoniathon given by Philo, a native sulphate of lime, and snow white, it could of Gebal or Byblus, in the first century not have changed to its present uniform of the Christian era. The era and per- gray color without being protected in sonality of Sanchoniathon have been about sbme such manner. In consequence of as much disputed as those of Homer. He this enamel, whatever it may be, the fin- is said to have written in his native lan- ished portions of the statue present an ex- guage a history, in nine books, of the an-~ traordinary polish, somewhat like that of tiquities of his country, drawn from the the heavy gray stoneware of modern temple records of Phoenicia. Movers sup- households. Besides the well-known col- poses this history to have been originally ored glazings used by the Egyptians upon entitled San-chon-jath, The whole Stat- their statues, we are told also that the utes of Chon. Chonthe Hebrew marble statues of Praxiteles are thought Chiunbelongedto the Baal family, as the to have been covered with a thin encaustic upholder of the order and harmony of the varnish of flesh color. The Phoenicians universe, equivalent to the Greek Saturn. perfected the arts of glazing and colorin~ According to Sanchoniatbon, Chronos while the Greeks were yet in a state of (or Chon) was the founder of Gebal or barbarism. What connection there may Byblus, the sacred and the oldest city of be between this glaze and the remarkable Phoenicia. Atlas, called also Tammuz, network of minute cells spoken of by Dr. lost (by violence), brother of Chro- White as covering the finished surface of nos, was killed by him and buried in the statue, is a problem for the physicists a deep hole at Gebal. Gebal, signifying to decide. It is a singular fact regarding tomb of the god, became the centre of these cells, and one which may throw famous mysteries connected with mourn- some light upon their origin, that those ing for a buried Adon or Lord. parts of the statue which are specially col- The Gebalites were the first colonizers of ored, namely, the nostrils and finger nails, Cyprus, and carried there the worship of are defined or bounded off in regular out- Adon Tammuz, from which the Greek line by these minute cells, which also colonists of that island derived their cover the surfaces between the letters of Adonis. the inscription, and round over into the The earliest statues of the Phoenician sides of some of them, but do not appear deities were said by Sanchoniathon to at the bottoms of the markings. If the have been made by Taaut, the god of let- cells had been formed entirely by deposi- ters, after patterns drawn by the curvings tion, it would be difficult to account for and windings of the serpent, and with the this state of affairs; t~id Dr. Whites rest of these rudimentary marks he theory of minute borers as their probable constructed the alphabet. Taaut devised origin, is sustained on the supposition for Chroimos a symbol of dominion, four that there may have been in the more eyes, part before and part behindtwo definitely colored parts of the statue closed in sleep; and upon his shoulders something which these borers did not four wings, two flying and two let down like, and so carefully avoided. This sup- to rest. The token was that Chronos position leads to the inference that the sleeping watched, and watching, slept; letters of the inscription were originally and so for his wings, that he while rest- colored with the dark red purple of the ing flew, and flying, rested. Now the finger nails. The sides which have been other gods had each two wings on their cut away and left rough have been col- shoulders to fly with Chronos. But he ored, but apparently not glazed. These had also on his head two wings, one upon portions the borers, if borers they shall time ~qoverning mind, and one upon the prove to be, have left untouched, showing senses. From this it would appear that possi.ly that they were attracted by the the countenance of the archaic Phoenician glazing upon the finished portions of the deity, Chronos, expressed upon one side 88 TAMMUZ AND THE MOUNDBUILDERS. [JULY. the controlling mind, and upon the other the senses. He had also eyes before and behind. The eyes of Baal, expressed simply by small circles or dots, were most com- mon of all Baalistic symbols, and the mul- tiplication of these small circles or dots represented to the Phoenicians the mul- tiplication of the power of vision, or omni- science. They were thus used on coins, encircling often the image or symbol of some guardian deity. This circle of dots has been retained upon our modern coins. The statue of Tammuz corresponds to the description of that of Chronos, as re- gards the wings with which he was origi- nally fitted out. His two eyes are also closed as if in sleep. But has be also eyes behind? Upon examinatioi~ the back of the statue, as we have stated, ap- pears to have been finished with elaborate care, and then to have been set full of small cup-like depressions or circles cor- responding to the conventional expression of the eyes of Baal. An ancient medal found at Onondaga, belonging to the era of the mound builders, is a circle with an in- scribed equilateral cross. Both cross and circle, like the wheel of Ezekiels vision, are full of these small circles or eyes. According to Movers, a circle enclosing an equilateral cross denotes with the Egyptians the world-soul, the circle being the world serpent with tail in mouth, and the inscribed equilateral cross symbolizing the four quarters of the earth. As a hieroglyph it came thus to stand for region. To the Phoenicians the figure on the medal, or wheel full of eyes, would signify the eyes of Baal in every place, and would also, as the ini- tial letter of his name, represent to them the serpent god Taaut, the initial letter of the name of a deity standing in the system devised by Taaut as a holy let- ter or symbol of that deity. THE BAAL FAMILY. This was a very old, and, so far as ma- terial civilization can give respectability, a very respectable fhmily. The first great Hamitic civilization and religion took on divers forms in the Euphrates valley and in South Arabia, on the Nile and on the Orontes. In Phoenicia and throughout Syria and South Arabia, the supreme, un- created and self-manifesting creator w worshipped as El. Viewed as a nature- force, whose special manifestation was the sun, and s seen in the varied life- forces of the earth, he was Boal, and was subdivided into numerous secondary di- vinities called Baalim. Baal, wor- shipped at Tyre, Sidon, Tarsus, became Baal-Tsur, Baal-Sidon, Baal-Tars; and these deities had frequently other local names. To the lord Melkarth, Baal of Tyre, says a dedicatory inscription in the island of Malta. The name Melkarth is here an abbreviation of Melek Kiryath, king of the city. But the secondary personifications of Baal were not always local. As preserver he was Baal-Chon, as destroyer ThaI-Mo- loch. The element of fire was considered as the principle of life, the source of all activity, of all renewal, and of all destruc- tion; and out of this idea grew the wor- ship of Baal-Moloch and of Baal-Hamon, burning Baal, the national god of Carthage. Melkarth was adored in the great temple at Tyre as symbolized by a luminous stone or emerald of great size and brilliancy, which was regarded as the shechinah of the national deity. Besides these sacred st~ies of fire, other stones were worshipped, particularly ahrolites as having tkllen from heaven. These sacred stones were called Beth-el, dwell- ing of God, because the divine essence was supposed to dwell in them. But the nature god of Phoenicia was a complex being. He was supposed to contain within himself both the male and the female principles, and thus to be a duality in unity. This conception, when the varied symbols employed to represent it became separated, gave rise to the wor- ship of female divinities. A goidess, in the religious inscriptions of Phoenicia, is described as the manifestat on or iTEAD OF TAMMUE. I 1872.] face of the male god to whom she corresponds. She is sufficiently distinct to be conjugally associated with him but still no other than the divinity himself in another manifestation. To every Baal therefore there was a corresponding female Baal, or Baalath. In general the religious system of the Phoenicians has been defined by Movers to be an apotheosis of the forces and laws of nature, an adoration of the objects in which these forces were seen, and where they appeared most active. Baal as a solar god was especially IBaal-Samim or Baal of the heavens. All the Baalim were characterized in this manner, but it was most marked in Tam- muz or Adonis, the special god of the city and mysteries of Gebalto the Phoe- nicians the sun god himselfwho when the vegetation of the beginning of the year was burned up by the heat of sum- aner, or destroyed by the cold of winter, was supposed to die, to be born again in the course of nature. In its inception this appears to have been a simple nature worship, with festivals representing the course of the sun, his effect upon the earth in the death and revival of the sea- sons. Thus the yearly ritual of the sun god, or Adonis, included a solemn burial nt the end of a day of grief, and general mourning, and a resurrection with core- monies of rejoicing. As every Baal had his corresponding Baalath, so Tammuz or Adonis, as the sun god in relation to the earth, had also his Baalath or female divinity, the earth mother, represent- ed by an evergreen tree, symbol of the productiveness of the earth under the gen- erative influence of the sun. The Phoenicians caine from eastern- Arabia to the shores of the Mediter- ranean, bringing with them the sun- worship which prevailed throughout the entire region of the valley of the Euphra- tes, the peninsula of Arabia, and the valley of the Nile. Among the Sabmans of southern Arabia this worship had pre- vailed from the remotest antiquity and in its purest form. They adored the sun as the highest manifestation of the divine being. it was a religion without images s~nd without a priesthood, the people ad- dressing worship to the stars of heaven from sanctuaries situated on high places, or on the tops of pyramids similar to those of Chalden. They also in some temples ndored objects in which resided the divine TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 89 essencecertain stones believed to h2ve fallen from heaven, and similar to the boetylia (Beth-el) of Phoenicia; also cer- tain springs or certain trees, such as the famous palm of Nedjran, that on feast days was dressed like a woman, with gold- en necklaces and valuable ornaments Says Movers: The oldest symbols of divinities were, as were their ixna~es, rude. The nature goddess was usually represented by a living tree, or the trunk of a tree, because of itself the tree was able to renew its verdure, and because in it was manifest the vital power of growth more strikingly than in any other product of nature. TAMMUZ. As a nature worship the Adonis festi- vals appear to have adapted themselves in diiThrent localities to the changes of the season, sometimes occurring twice in the year, but Gebal or Byblus, called the holy city of Adonis, was their great cen- tre. The ceremonies here began with the coming in of the rains. The signal for the mourning for Adon Tammuz, the lost lord, was~ the reddening of the river Adonis, which occurred in the late au- tumn, when the rains washed the red earth from the banks into the springs and brooks of Lebanon. It was said that Adonis hunting in the mountains had been killed by Mars, the wild boar, and that the river was running red with his blood. The women then went about seek- ing him, uttering the death wail and cry- ing, Ah, Adon! Ah, his glory! What they sought was a wooden ima,~,e of Adonis which had been hidden in the so-called gardens of Adonis. These Adonis gar- dens were vessels of pottery filled with earth, in which had been sown wheat, bar- ley, lettuce, and fennel, which sprin~,iug up rapidly had been caused to wilt in the heat of the sun and stood as symbols of the youth killed by the fire god, Mars, in oriental imagery expressing the brevity of human life, and the transitoriness of its possessions and joys. in one of these gardens Adonis was found, for, as the myth says, he was kill- ed by the wild boar in the lettuce. The finding of Adonis was signal for the re- newal of lamentations and the customary wailing for the dead, while the image was anointedwith spices and wound about with linen or woollen. This embalmed image of Adonis was then placed in a coffin, laid upon a bier, and the wound the wild boar 90 TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. [JULY, had given him shown. Mars, in the shape of a wild boar, either as living or dead., was placed near. The women sat round the bier upon the earth, rending their clothes, weeping and lamenting and rais- ing the death wail. In all these ceremo- nies the priests followed round with the women, taking part in their grief. After seven days of lamentation, suddenly the cry was heard, Adon lives and is risen! In a moment all was changed to frenzied joy, fitly represented by the later Bac- chanalian festivals of the Greeks and the Saturnalia of the Romans. The most beautiful and evanescent flow- ers were types of the early death of Ado- nis. The anemone was sacred to him, and his symbol. The myth says that it grew out of his blood, and the short duration and frailty of its blossoms, which are scat- tered by a stron~ wind, typify the fleet- ing life of youth. Flowers were said to lose their color at the death of Adonis, and in his burial he was covered with garlands, which withered because he breathed no more. The many attractive features of this worship of the nature ~od, from the earli- est times, strongly afl~cted the eastern coast of the Mediterranean from the Leb- anon to Egypt. Side by side with the Jehovah cultus it struggled for mastery. Deeply rooted among the old Canaanites, it was never thoroughly displaced by the worship of Jehovah. Its ritual, from which ma,ny highly poetical images and illustrations of the prophets are drawn, must have been as familiar to the worship- pers of Jehovah as their own temple ser- vice and at times supplanted it, even at Jerusalem. He said uuto me: Turn thee yet again, thou shalt see greater abominations that they do. Then he brought me to the door of the gate of Jehovahs house toward the north; and, behold, there sat women weeping for Tammuz. Then said he unto me: Hast thou seen, 0 son of man? Turn thee yet again, thou shalt see greater abominations than these. And he brought me to the inner court of Jehovahs house ; and, behold, at the door of the temple of Jehovah, between the porch and the altar, about five and twenty men, with their backs toward the temple of Jehovah, and their faces toward the east; and they worshipped the sun toward the east. (Ezek. viii.) the worship of the nature god supplant- ing that of the personal Jehovah in his own temple. The central idea of the Baal cultus was the incarnation of the forces of nature; that of the Jehovah was the in- carnation of the divine character. The one left the spirit of man fatherless, with- out a guide and without a standard, know- ing neither good nor evil except as related to the physical life. The other, the religion of Jehovah, from its very inception held up to man one God, the creator of the world and father of spirits, and through all its manifold laws and ceremsnials one standard, God-likeness. FATHER BAAL. That the primary religion of the race was monotheistic it would seem there could be no doubt, since all religions which have had any history go back to one original uncreated and controlling cause. The prolegomena to the special history of the children of Eber, which is contained in the first eleven chapters of the Book of Genesis, or all that precedes the coming of Abram into Palestine, be- longs to the general history of the race. It is the account, handed down to us through the Hebrews, of an original reli- gion, forming the background of the traditions of every primitive people. The original monotheistic God of the Semites and Hamites was El, worshipped as Ab El, or Father El. It is easy to see how out of this the appellative, Bel, or Baal, would arise in the worship of the sun as the father of physical lifo. The name El early became to the natur worshippers Bel or Baal. Traces of the very early rise of Baalism are probably found in the fourth chapter of Genesis, where the term El, a constituent of names in other families, suddenly changes to Bel or Baal in the line of the Cainite Lamech,. in the names Jubal, Tubal, etc. The sister of Tubal-Cain is spoken of as Naamnah the lovely, which name appears in the line of the Baalaths from earliest antiqui- ty. The goddess Ashtaroth of Tyre, the original of the Grecian Venus, was Ash- taroth Naamah, the lovely star, and the flower named after her nemanun, anemone, was consecrated to Adonis. The original El worship seems to have The prophet saw here in vision the been like the church in the wilderness at whole circle of the Adonis or sun-worship the period of the coming of Abram int~ completedthe women weeping at his bu- Palestine. Baalism then reigned su- rial and the men rejoicing at his rising2~~. pren~e, not only throughout the great em- t 1872.J TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 91 pire of Chaldea on the lower Euphrates, Not only were the symbols of Baalisrn from which he came, and that of Egypt on thus made tributai~y to the worship of ,Je- the Nile, but it had possession of the hovah at Jerusalem, but the head archi- whole of Arabia and of the land of Syria tect of the city of Tyre, the metropolis of now held by the Canaanites, bringing Baalism and Baalistic art, was specially with them their form of Baalism from the imported with all his workmen to build shores of the Persian Gulf. The El wor- the temple after the pattern of the temple shippers were at this time a scattered of Melkarth at Tyre. As every type of band, represented by Abram himself in art sufficiently distinctive to have a histo- 1ower Chaldea, an El worshipper in a ry, has always its culminating point in f3aalist family. In the land of Uz, on the some great artist standing as its highest borders of Sabtea, dwelt Job, amid an- representative, as that of Greece in Phi- 6ther group of El worshippers, who pleads dias, so the zenith of Phcenician art is that when he had beheld the sun in his represented by the architect and artist Hi- glory and the moon walking in bright- ram, in the reign of Hiram, king of Tyre, ness, he had not kissed his hand, and so who rebuilt in that city, with unexam- denied the El who is above. Melohise- pled splendor, the great temple of Mel- dek, in the land of Canaan, was also an karth, founded a thousand years before, old monotheist, a high priest of El, offi- and also the adjacent temple of the god- ciating in that capacity probably, accord- dess Ashtaroth. This Tyrian Phidias, ing to the patriarchal custom, to a limit- Hiram, skilful to work in gold and in ed number of El worshippers, remnants silver, and in brass, in iron, in stone, and of the primitive Semitic inhabitants of in timber, in purple, in blue, and in fine that part of Syria, or descendants of Shem, linen, and in crimson, also to grave any before the arrival there of the Hamitic manner of graving, and to find out every Canaanites, or descendants of Ham. device which should be put to him, was When the israelites, under Joshua, the orphan son of a Jewish mother, and came into the land of Canaan, the wor- his father was a man of Tyre. This He- ship of El, the one most high God, had brew Tyrian, Hiram, who conceived and been fairly extinguished, the sun, as lord executed the cherubim figures which of nature, being everywhere worshipped adorned the temple at Jerusalem, must as the great Baal, and each particular lo- have impressed upon Phoenicia his own cality or separate manifestation of nature- conceptions, derived from the Jehovah force having its own Baal with its special cultus, and in his works, or in those of his symbols. The Mosaic ritual, instituted school, should any have come down to us, under this external pressure of Baalism, we would naturally look for a mingling had for its object the restoration of the of Hebrew and Tyrian thought. The re- worship of El, represented by the personal mains of the art of Assyria, of Egypt, and and local Jehovah, affirmed to be higher of Greece, have been so far classified as to than all the Baals, and destined to become be fairly representative of the highest universal Adon or Lord. point of development in each. No such HIaAM. classification has yet been made of that of To express and enforce this idea, into Phoenicia. We know that in it were mm- his temple at Jerusalem were gathered by gled Egyptian and Assyrian elements, and Solomon all the leading symbols of Baal- that it was directly antecedent to the rise ism, and in the adornments made tributa- of Greek art. If we add to this the ry to the worship of the local Jehovah. influence of Hebrew religious thought, The cherubim of the temple of Solomon, we shall probably describe it at the period uniting with the head of man the winged of its highest development. nature-symbols of Assyria, Egypt, and With regard to the mingling of Egypt Phoenicia, appear to have been used to ex- and Assyria in the monumental remains press the superiority of moral to physical of the Phoenicians, says M. Lenormant: forces by a combination which could not Although the influence of either be otherwise interpreted than as symbolic country may be clearly exhibited, the of that idea. These symbols, adorning other style is never quite eliminated, and the inner court of the temple, looked to- this mixture of styles constitutes the on- ward the veil behind which dwelt the ginality of Phoenician art. The orna- shechinab of their invisible and yet per- ments common to both countries, the reli- sonal Jehovah. gious symbols, the emblematic monsters, 92 the sacred images both of the Nile and of the Euphrates, are assembled on the same monuments. New combinations of a hy- brid nature are the result of this union. Two civilizations of different kinds mingle in the works of Phcenician art, just as the manufactures of both countries met at the same time in the markets of Tyre and Si- don. In general, the common forms, the majority of symbols and ornaments em- ployed, the costume of the figures, are Egyptian. The influence of the land of * the Pharaohs was earliest brought t~ bear on Pheenicia, and left ineffaceable traces. The Pheenician priests even at Gades wore an entirely Egyptian costume. At Gebal Osiris and Isis were worshipped, as well as Tammuz and Baalath, and the legends of the two religions were at last combined. But the spirit and the execution of the works of art were not Egyptian, but en- tirely Assyrian, and reveal a natural apti- tude among the Pheenician artists for the Assyrian style. SHIPS OF TARSHISH. The Phoenician navigators, who filled the islands and coasts of the Mediter- ranean with their colonies, at length dis- covered Spain, called by them Tarshish, where they founded the town of Gades, now Cadiz. A century after the founding of Gades in the time of Hiram, they were undisputed suzerains over the greater part of southern Spain, where they had formed large agricultural colonies, and the use of the Phoenician language was common in the seaport towns. At this period also Hiram, king of Tyre, and Sol- omon at Jerusalem, united in sendiEg a 4 navy to Ophir to collect the precious mer- chandises of India. The vessels empi yed on this service were called ships of Tarshish, and were ocean traders built on the model designed by the PhoenL~ians for their distant voyages to Spain. The most ancient of their great ccean ship~, called a gaulos, was a round, tub-shaped vessel, resembling the Spanish galleon, its descendant in name and build. Herodotus gives a picture of a great mer- chant ship fitted out in the port of Sidon for the Mediterranean trade: In Sidon was equipped a great gaulos, and filled with all kinds of merchandise, to serve as a Pheenician trader. It was accompanied for its protection by two armed triremes. So it started on its journe~y around the entire coast of Greece, dnd further to Sicily and Italy, everywhere in the TAMMUZ AND TIlE MOUND-BUILDERS. [JULY, proper guise and open character of a Phcenician coast-trader, taking in and giv- ing out his wares, while he meantime was secretly reconnoitring and mapping out the coasts. Pharaoh Necho had two great fleets of triremes manned by Tyrian sailors, one upon the Mediterranean, and the other upon the Red Sea and indian Ocean, a detachment of which latter circumnavi- gated Africa during his About a century after this took place the great maritime discoveries of Car- thage, inaugurated by the celebrated voy- ages of Hanno and Hamilco. From a Greek version of the official Carthaginian account of the, voyage of Hanno along the African coast, deposited in the temple of Baal Hamon at Carthage, we learn, It was decreed by the qarthaginians that Hanno should undertake a voyage round the Pillars of Hercules and found Liby- Phoenician cities. He sailed accordingly with sixty fifty-oared galleys and a body~ of men and women to the ,number of thirty thousand, with provisions and other necessaries. The account goes on to relate that the expedition proceeded along the coast of Africa and founded numerous colonies. The Phoenician trade and transport ships of a thousand tons and upward, from their great size and draft, were not fitted for coast service, and were always convoyed by one or two long ships of light draft, in addition to a park or ten- der for transporting goods to and from the shore. These convoys were ships of war fully armed to protect the traders and colonists. The expedition of Hanno was doubtless convoyed by sixty fifty-oared galleys or penteconters. The speed of Phoenician long ships with oars and sails and a fair wind would com- pare favorably with that of modern clip- pers, and not unfavorably with steamers. Movers adduces many instances in support of the above conclusion. He also cites as one example of the capacity of Phoenician ships, the statement of Polybius that in the first Punic war the Carthaginians conveyed more than 150,000 soldiers upon 350 ships. With the Greek mariners the Phoenician merchant ships always held the front rank. The Greek writers, from Homer down, praise the excellence of build, easy handling, great sail and oar power, and beauty of the Phoenician ships, commend- I 1872.] TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 93 ing the care and exactness, and admiring to be inhabited by descendants of the peo- the great experience of the Phoenician pie who brought an ancient civilization to navigators, declaring that they directed the shores of Yucatan. These descend- their course nightly by the polar star, ants are said to still carry on the sun which the Greeks called the Phoenician worship of their ancestors, with its hu- star. while their own mariners steered man sacrifices, within the white walls of a their more uncertain way by the Great city which Mr. Stephens was told could at Bear, that the Phoenicians further knew times be seen from the tops of the Sierras. how to sail against the wind, and to make The monuments of Copan and Palenque prosperous voyages in stormy seasons. will serve as types of this civilization. In The expedition of Hamilco, also sent b~ the heads and statue pillars of Copan the the Carthaginian Senate, resulted in the European element predominates. As we re~stablishment of commerce with the leave the coast at this point, going west- British isles, where the Tyrians had ward, the grotesque forms of an eastern already preceded them ; and ~trabo records Asiatic element appear to mingle more that intercourse with foreign merchants and more in the ornamentation and hiero- became so constant as to exercise an im- glyphs. portant influence upon the people of the The remarkable altar at Copan, stand- country, and the commercial relations in- ing upon four globes, with its table of hi- troduced the use of a .Canaanitish alpha- eroglyphs in has-relief, may possibly be bet of twenty-two letters among the Ili- bilingual. There is an appearance of hernians. Phoenician alphabetical characters upon While thus frequenting the western some of the hieroglyphs, but however this coast of Africa, the Carthaginians took may be, there is upon the right arm of the possession of the Canary Islands, and ar- pillar statue forming the frontispiece of rived as far west as the Sargasso Sea, Vol. I. of Stephenss Central America,~ that sea of weeds between the Azores and the distinct Phcenician alphabetical char- Bahamas, in the track of those great dis- acter B. coveries made by the Tyrians at least This letter is set as a seal upon the bare two centuries before, which formed the right arm, midway between the elbow and groundwork of the tradition of the lost the wrist, the eyes of the statue being di- Atlantis. rected toward it as if with a purpose of THE NEW DEPARTURE, drawing to it the attention of observers. If now, following the old track of Phce- As it is seen in the engraving only one nician navigators in their exploration of twenty-sixth of its actual size, it must be the coast of Africa, and striking westward upon the pillar a very conspicuous mark. into the great equatorial drift current The drawings for these engravings are around the southern border of the Sargas- stated to have been made with extdordi- so Sea, we land at the point of Yucatan, nary care by Mr. Catherwood, and, in the the pivotal point off which the current opinion of Mr. Stephens, are as true makes a turn to sweep into the Gulf of copies as can be presented, and, except Mexico, we come upon colossal ruins of the stones themselves, the reader cannot ancient datd which, with the addition of have better material for speculation and the admixture of eastern Asiatic elements, study. Upon this same statue, as upon eouLd hardly be better described than in others in Copan, may be seen the pine the words of M. Lenormant in regard cones of Assyrian has-reliefs arranged in to the monuments of the Phoenicians. the form of a girdle. Emblems and syin- Following down the coasts of this peninsu- bols of Baal appear throughout the mon- Ia, we find at its base on the one side the uments of Copan and Palenque. Not far wonderful monuments of Copan, and on from this Copan pillar statue is the temple the other those of Palenque. A semicir- cave ~of Tibulca, which Mr. Stevens does cular sweep uniting these two points, and not appear to have examined, but to which following the bend of the Pacific coast, Don Domingo Juarros, a native of New would indicate in general the course par- Guatemala, refers as follows: This ap- sued by Mr. Stephens in his explorations, pears like a temple of great size, hollowed leaving untouched the whole central re- out of the base of a hill, and adorned with gion of this peninsula, still as un- columns having bases, pedestals, capitals, known as was Central Africa before the and crowns, all accurately adjusted ac- expeditions of Dr. Livingstone, and said cording to axchitectural principles. At 94 TAMMUZ AND TILE MOUND-BUILDERS. [JULY, the sides are numerous windows faced what is now St. Louis, the site of the an- with stone exquisitely wrought. All cient capital of the mound-builders of the these circumstances lead to a belief that present United States. The mounds of there must have been some intercourse the United States must be looked at as the between the inhabitants of the Old and northern terminus of a system which had New World at very remote periods. a southern centre and tendency. Work- Bernard de Sahagua, the most import- ing northward, being pressed upon by the ant of the Spanish authorities of the time nomads of the northwest, to cover and of the conquest, whose work was sup- protect its agricultural civilization, it was pressed by the Council of the Indies as in- forced into the building of earthworks, terfering with their policy of extermina- serving the double purpose of teocalli and tion, speaks of a universally received tra- fortifications. Such a state of affairs dition among the natives of New Spain, would leave the northern mound-builders of a foreign Atlantic colony arriving be- little leisure or inclination to build on the fore the Christian era on the shores of vast scale of Iheir southern brethren, even Florida, proceeding across the Gulf of could they have commanded the material Mexico, landing on the Peninsula of Yuca- and the laborers. The eastern Asiatics of tan and founding great cities now in Central America appear to have arrived ruins, the greatest of which was destroyed there with a sufficiently pronounced civil- a thousand years before the arrival of the ization of their own to be able to modify Spaniards. Confirmatory of this landing the monuments of a more cultured race by of a foreign Atlantic colony, is the state- the interfusion of their own ideas and meat of Montezuma to Cortez that the symbols, uniting with them to build those ancestors of the Mexicans came as did the colossal and bizarre specimens of architec- Spaniards, from the place of the rising sun. ture so perplexing when viewed as the Pa;ssing down the Atlantic coast, and product of one people. following up the great valley of the Ama- The mound-builders of the United States zon to the headwaters of its affluents near had no such plastic material in the wild the Pacific, we come to the city of Cuzco, nomadic tribes of the north, by whom and the vast remains of the suii wor- they were always liable to be overborne shippers of Peru, in the high valleys of and driven southward. In these circum- the Andes. Upon the shores and islands stances they appear to have taken posses- of the sacred lake of Titicaca we find the sion of a central point near the junction remains of a civilization analogous to that of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers, of Copan, but more purely Egyptian and which they held with great strength, Assyrian, and holding a relation of priori- throwing out their lines of fortifications ty to the religion of the Incas, like that along the affluents of these rivers. At the of th~ ruins of Copan to the Aztec line of beadwaters of the Ohio their lines of de- the Montezumas. The highest type of fence met a kindred system of fortifica- crania of the ancient races of Peru sag- tions, which held the affluents of the Ches- gests strongly the bead of the mound- apeake and the region south of Lake On- builder before given. The principal deity tario, from its military centre at Ononda- of these ancient sun worshippers of Peru ga, thus covering and protecting the im- appears to have been C/ion, answering in portant agricultural civilization of central name and attributes to the old Phoenician and western New York. Within these Baal-chon, or Saturn. lines of defence, between the Mississippi Passing northward, and leaving behind and the Atlantic, was embraced a region those colossal monuments which excited in which traces of a truly vast agricultu- the wonder and admiration of Humboldt, ral civilization are found, and which must we follow the high valleys of the Cordil- have reckoned its inhabitants by millions. leras through Central America, and coin- Of the mound-building system of the ino~ out in the valley of Mexico, with its United States, that upon the afiluents of temples and teocalli, we arrive at the the Chesapeake, with its centre at Onon- great pyramid of Cholula, the culminat- daga, is the only portion which appears to ing point of the entire mound-building have had its ori0in in the north. The system of the two continents. From this earliest traditions of the Iroquois relate point northward, following the Gulf of to a foreign people arriving by ship who, Mexico and the Mississippi, we arrive at driven upon the coast to the south of the pyramid groups of Cahokia, opposite them (probably into the Chesapeake Bay), 1872.] TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. took possession of the country south of the great lakes, became numerous, and built fortifications. These fortifications were probably those now remaining upon the affluents of the Susquehanna, Dela- ware, and Alleghany rivers. There is a marked absence in the quite extensive re- mains of these north-eastern mound- builders of the sacrificial teocalli of their southern brethren, showing a milder type of religion. It would appear from tradi- tion that the mound-builders of the north- east, after remaining long enough to im- press their civilization upon a confederacy, becoming outnumbered and reduced in power, withdrew toward the Mississippi. Afterward a branch of them, called by the Iroquois stone giants, having be- come cannibals, returned, harassed and subdued the confederacy for a time, but in a great battle at Onondaga, being near- ly exterminated, were finally expelled from the territory and driven north. The mound-builders of the lower Mississippi practised the Moloch form of sun worship and human sacrifices, at their golden city opposite St. Louis. This worship among their kindred in Mexico included the eat- ing of the flesh of captives, as a religiot~ rite. From this centre, probably having adopted the inhuman worship of their rel- atives, the stone giants returned to har- ass and devour their old allies. We regret to be unable to introduce here one of three illustrations given by Schooleraft, entitled Iroquois Picture-Writing~ handed down from an unknown antiquity among the On- ondaga Iroquois, and representing their very earliest traditions. These illustra- tions show the pictorial art of the Iroquois extraordinarily advanced at a very early period, and they can be in no way com- pared to any other picture-~vriting on the continent. Schooleraft himself, although not connecting these pictures with the story of the foreign colony, is still so im- pressed with the resemblftn~ce of the fig- ures in one of them to those of the Behis- tun inscription, as to insert an engraving of the latter, side by side, for comparison. The illustration shows the ancestors of the Iroquois fleeing before the stone giants, represented as men in armor, of colossal size and apparently foreign origin. It would seem that this picture must have originated at a time when race peculiarities were distinctive in the con- federacy, and that the delineator must have belonged to the party of the pursu- ing figures, and intended to hand down a graphic sketch or color painting of their race characteristics, and history. The picture suggests that the foreigners who arrived by sea were of much larger stature than the nomadic tribes they found here. If we may judge from crania and skeletons found in connection with the most ancient remains of western New York and The Ohio, their relative size in the picture is not much exa~,ger- ated. The primitive x-aces of Syria were men of large stature, as their names Anakim, Nephilim, etc., denote; and the Phoenicians, as well as the Philistines, un- doubtedly received an infusion of their blood. Their large stature therefore is one indication that these northern Phoeni- cian colonists came from Phoenicia proper, rather than from any of her colonies. Another very interesting point in re- spect to these pursuing figures is their color. They are unmistakably red, or copper color, in contrast with the nomadic tribes, who, as seen in the picture, have no trace of red in their complexion. The question at once arises, Were the Phoeni- cians red? The first great Hamnitic civil- ization, which found its highest expres- sion on the Nile, was, as appears every- where unmistakably upon the monu- ments, a civilization of red men. The Egyptians were a clear, dark red, from which the inference is now fully admitted that the Hamitic was a red race. The Phoenicians were a branch of the Ham- itic race closely allied to the Egyptians, and were classed by them as red. They were the red men of the sea, as the Egyp- tians were the red men of the land. The eastern Asiatics are not red, but yellow, and the red element does not appear to have come into North America from the Pa- cific coast. Says Dr. Latham: The Esqui- maux are not copper-colored, neither are the Americans in general. It is only best known in those that are typical of the so- called red race, there being but little of the copper tinge when we get beyond the Algonquins and the Iroquois. The high helmets and notched or Her- cules clubs of the two pursuing figures may be found upon Phoenician coins. The blue color of one of these figures i undoubtedly intended to express one of the distinguishing marks of the foreign colony. Now we learn from one wh~ knew them well, that the Phoenicians TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. [JULY, were wholesale clothes-dealers, and made blue clothes a specialty. These were thy merchants in all sorts of things, in blue clothes, and broidered work, and in chests of rich apparel bound with cords and made of cedar, among thy merchan- dise. Prescott remarks in regard to Mexican paintings, that the coloring ex- hibits only violent contrasts, such as may produce the most vivid impression; for even colors, as Gama ~bserves, speak in the Aztec hieroglyphics. This same blue color appears in certain cases to mark race distinctions in the Mexican pictures, but the Mexican Phcenicians, coming from the shores of North Africa, must have been a mingled people, embrac- ing every variety of complexion. The separate colony of northeastern mound-builders were pure Hamitic, as in- dicated in the Iroquois pictures by the color of their complexion, not only in the illustration referred to, but in a strik- ing manner in the picture of their ancient King Atatarho, clothed in what in Mexico Humboldt describes as a garment of serpents. This garment of serpents in the Iroquois picture is peculiarly artistic, and connects at once with the serpent sym- bol upon the statue associated with a purely Pheenician inscription, indicating the language brought with them by the foreign colony. But such a colony, cut off from all communication or supplies, except through the language of surround- ing tribes, would soon part with their cwn, and in a few generations it would almost totally disappear, while their re- ligious ideas, observances, and arts of ivilization, so far as adapted to the country, would long remain. The so-called Semitic traces found along the line of the mound-building civ- ilization throughout the two continents, may receive some light from the above suggestion; for the Phcenicians, although a Hamitic race, spoke a so-called Semitic 1angua~e. According to Lenormant, one language was originally common to the sons of Shem and Ham. The Egyptian and its allied idioms were first separated from the main stem, and in a less perfect state of development formed a group called the Nilotic languages. A division of this family is represented by the Berber, sprung from the ancient Libyan, and spoken by a great part of the people who are spread over the north and northwest ef Africa. A language nearly related to the Berber was spoken by the Guanches, ancient inhabitants of the Canary Isles. The relation between the Guanches and early Peruviaas has long been noted. The ancient Libyan will probably be found to be an important element in the inter- pretation of the hieroglyphs of Copan and Palenque. The so-called Hebrew language, spoken by the Semitic Abram and his descend- ants, the Hebrews, was adopted by them from the Canaanites, a people exclusively Hamitic, both in character and in physi- ognomy, who brought it into the land of Canaan from the shores of the Persian Gulf, and which was afterwards reduced to alphabetical writing by the Phceni- cians, a branch of the Canaanites upon the sea coast engaged in commerce. The family of Abram before coming into the land of Canaan probably spoke a kindred lan- guage more nearly related to the Arabic, because of the original parentage of the races cf Heber and Joktan. Lenormant points out the fact that the term Sem- itic, if applied in a too restricted sense, is liable to lead to serious error, since a large part, if not the majority of the Hamitic nations spoke the so-called Sem- itic language. Associated with languages having a common stem are always found common or closely allied traditions. The so-called Ilebrew traditions so often re- marked upon among the Indian tribes of both continents may here find a reasonable basis of explanation. It is an interesting question for investigation, how far and how closely these so-called Semitic tradi-, tions follow the line of the Ilamitic red color among the Indian tribes of America. nLTJLI. The statue brought over by the foreign colony~ takenAn connection with the Iro- quois pictures, gives basis for a proximate deduction in regard to the point of de- pajture. We have stated reasons drawn from the pictures for supposing that the foreign colony came originally from some point in Pheenicia proper. The statue contributes other and more decisive grounds favoring the same conclusion. The point of departure could not have been Carthage or any of her colonies, since in the cultus of her fire gods, Adonis found no place. According to Dr. Did- linger, he bad no cultus in the purely Pheenician cities, neither in Sidon or any of her colonies, nor in Tyre or her colonies, 1872.] TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 97 during the predominance of the ~Melkarth dynasty. We are therefore shut down apparently to Gebal as our starting point. But Gehal was an old Syro-Phoenician town belonging to the Sinites, a branch of the ilamitic race before the Phoenicians came into the land of Canaan. These Sinites were an agricultural people, who appear to have adopted the Syrian or Aramean sun god as their deity, whom Movers traces throughout Syria by the name Hadad, the only one, or the first and highest god in the Syrian system. Rimmon, pomegranate, was the Syrian symbol of Jiadad at Damascus, and Hadad Rimmon was the Syrian sun god Adonis. Now the Phoenician population of Gebal were devoted to the business of ship- building. Immense dockyards received supplies of timber from the mountains of Lebanon, out of which were built the great ships of Tarshish, as well as war vessels of the Tyrian navy. The Phoeni- cians of Gebal were a busy population of shipwrights and stone-cutters, having no time apparently to get up a religion of their own, but taking the one they found on hand, the ceremonial of which they appear to have left pretty much to the women and the priests. Gebal and its colonies were always noted for the archaic character or rudeness of their religious symbols, and for a tendency to combine them with the worship of the Egyptian Osiris. It seems probable therefore that this statue did not come from Gebal, but that it must have originated in some ar- tistic and metropolitan centre, and have been taken away in some crisis by an im- Portant colony. Within a century after the death of Iii- ram, a revolution occurred in Tyre which placcd upon the throne Ethbaal, a priest of the goddess Ashtaroth. This was a politico-religious revolution, the char- acter of which we may judge from the form of Baalism patronized and ex- tended throughout the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, by Jezebel, wife of Ahab king of Israel, and Athaliab her daughter, married tothe king of Judah. Jezebel was daughter of Ethbaal, the priest of Ash- taroth who usurped the throne at Tyre, and we learn that she supported at her own table four hundred and fifty -of the prophets or prie~ts of Baal and four hun- dred prophets of the grove, or ashera, the symbol of Ashtaroth as earth moth- er, or Baalath of Adonis or Tammuz. This would seem to show that the Adonis worship was at this period dominant in Tyre, a view sustained by the fact that th& Melkarthites were hostile to the Ashtaroth dynasty. Ashtaroth at Tyre, as Baalath of Mel- karth, was a stellar goddess. She was Ashtaroth Naamah, the lovely star, which, as the myth says, fell from heav- en, and was consecrated in the holy island of Tyre. Her temple was adjacent to that of Melkarth, the national deity, who was symbolized by a stone of fire, or light, a luminous emerald of large size, and the priests of the two temples of Mel- karth and Ashtaroth constituted one re- ligious body, and were regarded as repre- senting two sides of one worship. The coup detat which placed Ethbaal the priest of Ashtaroth on the throne, and ar- rayed against him the Melkarthites, ap- pears to have resulted in Tyre in changing Ashtaroth as stellar goddess and Baalath of Melkarth into Asbtaroth as earth mother, and Baalath of Adonis; in other words, she was divorced from Melkarth by Ethbaal and married to Adonis. This change would demand the introduction in- to the temenos, or garden court, of the temple of Ashtaroth at Tyre, a represen- tative or statue of Adonis. Such a statue under the circumstances would require to be an impressive and elaborate work of art, embodying and idealizing all the ar- chaic features of that nature symbolism, and would naturally conform to the type of art introduced by Hiram the artist and architect, who had rebuilt less than a cen- tury before with great splendor both the temples of Melkarth and of Ashtaroth. The supporters of the old Melkarth worship were always a strong party in opposition to the new dynasty, and th~ failure of their attempt to reiistablish themselves caused that secession of Mel- karthites from Tyre under the leadership of Elissar or Dido, the fugitive, which resulted iii founding Carthage. The continued opposition of the Melkarthites finally caused the flight of Eluli, the last of the Ashtaroth dynas~. In the year 700 B. C. Sennacherib king of Assyria laid siege to Tyre. The indifference or treason of the Melkarthites caused King Eluli and his adherents to fall back upon insular Tyre, where lay the unconquered fleet. When further resistance was useless the entire Ashtaroth dynasty took the course of the Phocean founders of Mar- 98 TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. [JULY, seilles, who in later times, in a similar exigency, took to their ships with their wives, their children, and the statues of their gods, and sailed away. We have our information of this event from the records of Sennacherib: In my third campaign I marched toward Syria. Eluli was king of the Sidonians. The great re- nown of my majesty affri~hted him, and he lied to the isles in the midst of the sea, and ahandon- ed his country. We obtain from Isaiah a furtherglimpse of the course of Eluli and his fleet: Pass ye over to Tarshish. Howl, ye inhahi- tants of the isle! Is this your joyous city, whose antiquity is of ancient days? Her own feet shall carry her afar off to sojourn. Pass throu~h thy land as a river, 0 daughter of Tarshish : there is no more strength. Thou shalt no more rejoice, 0 thou oppressed virgin, daughter of Sidon: arise, pass over to Chittim, there also thou shalt have no rest. The Adonis statue we have described bears the marks of having been cut away from its surroundings. In such a case as we have supposed, it would be necessary to thus cut it away for the purpose of transportation by ship. The course of a Tyrian colony, under the circumstances we have depicted, would naturally be in the order marked out by the prophet. The fleet would rendezvous at Chittim or Cyprus, but would not rest there, as being within reach of the king of Assyria. It would avoid Carthage, that city being possessed by the Melkarthites, and would direct its course through the Pillars of Hercules to its daughter colony, Tarshish or Gades. But this point also was held by the Melkarthites. Passing through her land as a river, Tyre, now become the daughter of Tarshish, would flee to the isles in the midst of the sea, her own sect carrying her afar off to sojourn. ATLAS. In the Phcenician genesis or cosmog- ony, Atlas appears to have been a name for Tammuz, derived according to Movers from Ati, darkness, and belongs to Tammuz as sun god gone down into dark- ness. The Phnnician navigators, passing through the Pillars of Hercules, and seeing the descending sun extinguished in the western waters, called these waters the sea of Atl or darkness, and the sun, thcir Adon Baal of the heavens, as he sank ihto it, became to them the god of Atl. The Libyans named the great mountain behind which the sun stink into darkness, Mount Atl or Atlasone of the Pillars of Her- cules. In Phrygia Atlas is represented as imparting wisdom to hercules by means of the pillars by which he bore up the earth and the heavens. hercules was the name given by the Greeks to Melkarth the guardian deity of Tyre, and the Phrygian myth reveals the fact that the Pillars of hercules were supposed by the ancients to be guardians of secrets of wisdom, im- parted only to the Pheenician navigators. In the language of the Aztecs Ati sig- nifies water, and their traditions point to Aztlan or Atlan, the place of waters, as the point from which the ancestors of their race entered the country. The Aztecs represented themselves as having come into Mexico from the northwest. The Aztecs were secondary in Mexico, and allied to the Toltecs who preceded them. By simply following the bend of the continent, they would, from any point north of Central America, appear to have entered from the northwest, and the ten- dency of the northern mound-builders was always, as we have noted, to press southward. But Montezuma declared that his ancestors came from the east, or the place of the rising sun, and all Toltec and Aztec traditions a,,,ree that they came from Aztlan or Atlan, the place of waters. If now the Libyan language shall furnish a key to the hieroglyphs of Central America, the question of their minration from under the shadow of old Mount Atlas, across the sea of Atl or Atlan, the place of waters, will have been solved. Platos description of another continent beyond the Pillars of Hercules is of ins- portance in this relation. He puts his ac- count of the situation of the continent into the mouth of an Egyptian priest, who re- lates it to Solon. The Egyptians had no navy of their own except as they subsidized the Phosnicians. They were not coloniz- ers or traders outside of their own boun- daries. All their knowledge of the world by sea was derived from the Phee- nicians, who had their trade exchanges and religious ceremonies at Memphis, where the Osiris and Adonis myths were made to combine. The Pheeni- cians always kept their own discoveries among themselves with Masonic secrecy. In the Carthaginian fleets, the pilots alone were intrusted with the secrets of their course. Charts disclosing the po- sition of their ishtnd colonies were kept p 1872.] TAMMUZ AND THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 99 carefully guarded in the temple of Saturn at Carthage, and their fleet had orders to sink all strange vessels found outside the Pillars of Hercules. In addition to this they spread the most frightful stories of the terrors of the great sea of Atl, the sea of darkness, and of all countries with which they alone traded, in order to prevent other nations from at- tempting to visit them. Beyond the Pillars of Hercules, says a Carthaginian authority, is an island in the midst of the ocean, rich in vegetation and conse- crated to Saturn (the Baal Hamon of Carthage). Nature there shows herself under a formidable aspect, for when a vessel approaches the island the waves of the sea surrounding it rise with fury, and, shaking the island itself, make it tremble with terror, while the ocean remains calm as a lake. Thus to the ancient world inside of the Pillars of Hercules, everything outside was a subject of the wildest and most fantastic imagination and terrorcoasts inhabited by goblins, islands shaken by earthquakes, and the sea filled with monsters and swept by tempests, or shrouded by an impene- trable fog, and thick with weeds through which no ship could pass. Under these auspicious circumstances it is perhaps not surprisin~ that we have not inherited through the classics an ab- solutely clear account of the discovery and settlement of America by the Phoenician navigators. The only scrap which has come down to us is from the writings of Plato, and we will give it entire. Said the Egyptian priest (to Solon) There was an island situated in front of the straits which you call the Pillars of Hercules. The island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from the islands you might pass to the whole of the opposite coatinen~ which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the straits of Hercules is only a harbor having a narrow entrance, but the other is the real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a continent. Plato goes on to relate in another place, that this island was discovered by Nep- tune, (Poseidon) and was divided between the twin brothers Atlas and Gadirus or Gades, or, being interpreted, between Atlas or Libyan colonies and Gades or Tyrian colo- nies, while the other sons of Neptune, brothers of Atlas and Gades, ~overned the other islands and territory beyond. The colonies outside of the Pillars of hercules are further represented as being in alliance with the Phoenicians in their attempt to repel the Greeks from the western Medi- terranean; which attempt proving a failure, the island disappeared in true Phoenician style, sinking in the midst of the sea of Atl, and leaving as its only traces a vast continent of weeds and shal- lows. There is an intimation in this story that the Phoenician navigators supposed the great expanse of weeds and shallows now called the Sargasso Sea to indi- cate a sunken island or continent, and that upon this they based their myth of the lost Atlantis, originally told hy them to the Greek marines, and so handed down to us. in the mean time, while the Phoenician navigators were getting off their yarns to the marines of the Mediterranean, at the very time when Plato was penning his account of the explorations of the unknown sea of Atl by the Phoenicians of the pre- ceding two or three centuries, the discov- eries of which he has left us so really ac- curate a picture had resulted in the peo- pling of that continent surrounding the true sea, on its coasts, and by means of its great river arteries opening up from the ocean, from the headwaters and affluents of the Amazon and Orinoco, on the -line of a curve sweeping through Central America, Mexico, and the valley of the Rio Grande, following up the Mi sissippi and its afiluents, embracing the whole Atlantic coast region from the Gulf of Mex- ico to the headwaters of the Chesapeake and the great lakes of the north accord- ing to the generalizations by Humboldt of the ancient civilizations of America. From Platos account we may derive some idea of the period of the coming of the first Phoenician colonies to this conti- nent. Solon is generally accredited to the year 600 B. C., a hundred years after the flight of Eluli from Tyre. The first explorations and colonies of the Phoeni- cians outside the Pillars of Hercules were during the Tyrian period, and Gades was the Atlantic port from which the fleets of King Hiram swept the western ocean, while the combined navies of Hiram and Solomon were gathering the treasures of the Indian seas at the East. The mound-building civilization of this country has been estimated by Sir John Lubbock, in his American Archoe- ology, to be included within a pe 100 TEMPUS EDAX. [JULY. nod of three thousand years, as the utmost limit of its antiquity. It was probably well established about 500 or 600 B. C., or about the time Rome be- gan to rise into notice on the Mediter- ranean. The culmination of the mound- building system, or the period of its great- est development and extension, appears to have been about the time of the Christian era. It is noticeable that the earlier mound-builders had a much milder type of religion than the later. The coloniza- tion of the Tyrian period would be marked by the Melkarth cultus, corre- sponding to that of Quetzalcoatl, the legis- lator of Toltec tradition, and the first re- ligion of Cholula. The Moloch form of Baalism appears to have come in later, probably with a Carthaginian element, and to have had its first development in the valley of the Mississippi below the Ohio, with its centre opposite St. Louis, at their golden city, which we hear of through Iroquois tradition. The increasing pressure of the nomads of the north, and probably internal dissen- sions, caused in the first and second cen- turies of the Christian era a series of move- ments toward the south along the whole line of the mound-building civilization, the first effect of which appears to have been to carry the Moloch cultus into Mexico, and to produce changes in the populations of Central America and along the Cordil- leras of the Andes to the headwaters of the Amazon as far as the southern line of Peru. About the time of the descent of the barbarians of the north upon Rome, the parallel mound-building civilization in America was broken through and trampled down by the Tartar nomads of the northwest. They appear to have fol- lowed in successive waves beating against the fortified line of the Ohio, which they finally forced through and fought their battle of Chalons on the dark and bloody ground of Kentucky. There these Huns of the northwest rolled the mound-build- ing civilization southward and into the sea. Had the hordes of Attila proved victorious upon the plains of France, there too the crumbling ruins of a lost civilization might alone salute the eye of the wondering traveller of to-day. Whether the final battle at Onondaga, which determined the fate of the north- eastern mound-builders, occurred before or after this event, we cannot tell. We only know that at some distant period the great statue brought in a ship of Tarshish across the Sea of Atl, lying in its resting- place, was lightly covered with twigs and flowers and then with gravel. The tree under whose shadow it had reposed was caused to fall with branches extending over and protecting the slightly raised mound. Here it was probably left for its winter burial, looking toward a resurrec- tion in the spring. Passing centuries have laid over both mound and tree an alluvial deposit, the depth of which, when calcu- lated with all the data accurate topo- graphical investigation alon~ can give, may yield a measure of time. TEMPUS EDAX. fears that he may lose his gold, Ff HE miser ipwreck the seaman dreads, however bold; But II never dreamed I should be old! And start sometimes with bitter memories stung, When asked, as youth will ask with reckless tongue, How did you this, and this, when you were young? Oh! careless youth, that will not learn to prize The happy time, that tells such pretty lies, Whispering, Theres no such adage as Time flies. Like luscious fruit still ripening day by day, Till over-ripening doth induce decay, So youth is youth no more by dint of stay. Oh! Time, thou hast indeed a gnawing tooth, Thou, that hast taught me many a precious truth, But robbed me of that falsehood fair, my youth. Kixrr.

100 TEMPUS EDAX. [JULY. nod of three thousand years, as the utmost limit of its antiquity. It was probably well established about 500 or 600 B. C., or about the time Rome be- gan to rise into notice on the Mediter- ranean. The culmination of the mound- building system, or the period of its great- est development and extension, appears to have been about the time of the Christian era. It is noticeable that the earlier mound-builders had a much milder type of religion than the later. The coloniza- tion of the Tyrian period would be marked by the Melkarth cultus, corre- sponding to that of Quetzalcoatl, the legis- lator of Toltec tradition, and the first re- ligion of Cholula. The Moloch form of Baalism appears to have come in later, probably with a Carthaginian element, and to have had its first development in the valley of the Mississippi below the Ohio, with its centre opposite St. Louis, at their golden city, which we hear of through Iroquois tradition. The increasing pressure of the nomads of the north, and probably internal dissen- sions, caused in the first and second cen- turies of the Christian era a series of move- ments toward the south along the whole line of the mound-building civilization, the first effect of which appears to have been to carry the Moloch cultus into Mexico, and to produce changes in the populations of Central America and along the Cordil- leras of the Andes to the headwaters of the Amazon as far as the southern line of Peru. About the time of the descent of the barbarians of the north upon Rome, the parallel mound-building civilization in America was broken through and trampled down by the Tartar nomads of the northwest. They appear to have fol- lowed in successive waves beating against the fortified line of the Ohio, which they finally forced through and fought their battle of Chalons on the dark and bloody ground of Kentucky. There these Huns of the northwest rolled the mound-build- ing civilization southward and into the sea. Had the hordes of Attila proved victorious upon the plains of France, there too the crumbling ruins of a lost civilization might alone salute the eye of the wondering traveller of to-day. Whether the final battle at Onondaga, which determined the fate of the north- eastern mound-builders, occurred before or after this event, we cannot tell. We only know that at some distant period the great statue brought in a ship of Tarshish across the Sea of Atl, lying in its resting- place, was lightly covered with twigs and flowers and then with gravel. The tree under whose shadow it had reposed was caused to fall with branches extending over and protecting the slightly raised mound. Here it was probably left for its winter burial, looking toward a resurrec- tion in the spring. Passing centuries have laid over both mound and tree an alluvial deposit, the depth of which, when calcu- lated with all the data accurate topo- graphical investigation alon~ can give, may yield a measure of time. TEMPUS EDAX. fears that he may lose his gold, Ff HE miser ipwreck the seaman dreads, however bold; But II never dreamed I should be old! And start sometimes with bitter memories stung, When asked, as youth will ask with reckless tongue, How did you this, and this, when you were young? Oh! careless youth, that will not learn to prize The happy time, that tells such pretty lies, Whispering, Theres no such adage as Time flies. Like luscious fruit still ripening day by day, Till over-ripening doth induce decay, So youth is youth no more by dint of stay. Oh! Time, thou hast indeed a gnawing tooth, Thou, that hast taught me many a precious truth, But robbed me of that falsehood fair, my youth. Kixrr. JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. IT was natural enough for Juliet Cap- ulet, intensely romantic and hungry- hearted, to ask, Whats in a name? and to declare that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. But suppos- ing Romeo had been called Breyfogle or Flapdoodle, would she or could she have loved him so passionately? In all proba- bility she would not and could not. J3rey- fogle or Flapdoodle would act UPOfl senti- ment like sea-sickness; and even Juliet could not withstand either if belonging to the hero of her heart. Juliet was a very sweet though pain- fully sentimental girl, and has made the old Osteria del Cappello in Verona a ro- mantic shrine fur generations. Still, as she was not much of a philologist or a philosopher, it is undertaken to answer the question she did not care to aus er for herself. Without considering names to be of such solemn import as Tristr~m Shandys father did, he certainly had good grounds for his belief. No one can measure the influence of names, which are things and powers, often too strong for resistance and too subtle to he apprehended. Though generally esteemed to be altogether exter- nal and inoperative, they are the strongest of circumstances~ and soon grow into cau- ~ation. They affect the bearer, not so much, but in the same way, as tempera- ment, trainin~, health, and immediate surroundings. Before long they enter into and become part of the man, who can no more be dissociated from his name than he can from his complexion, manners, or character. The fate of many persons is determined by their christening. It makes or mars their future; paves their way with smoothness or besets it with ob- stacles; responds to their hopes or blasts their expectations. Parents are stupidly careless in this re- gard. Children are born to their names, not the names adapted to them. Even before they make their debut on the stage of existence, it is settled wh~ t they shall be called. A small army of relatives and friends, who seem to take a malignant sat- isfaction in all consanguineous peopling 7 of tIme planet, expect new-comers to re- ceive their pr~nomina if not their patro- nymics. The more inapt and ill-sounding these are, the larger their expectations and the greater their demands. Perhaps, havin~ themselves suffered from absurd or grotesque christening, they are anxious that others should suffer likewise. At least half of what is styled sympathy arises from miserys proverbial love of company. Not one woman in five, and not one man in fifty, is fitted to be a moth- er or a father; and for this reason, J sup- pose, thanks to nature and to destiny, celibates of either sex are rare cxceptioas~ If parents were wise (but many of them, to employ a Iliberuicism, would in that case never be parents at all), they would resist all counsels, suggestions, and temptations to label their offi~pring until they had some means of ascer- taining what their offspring was likely to be. It would be a good general rule not to name children before their eighth or tenth year, though, for the sake of convenience and designation, they might be~ given a temporary appellation. Assuredly this would save endless awk- wardness, annoyance, and chagrin for lit- ture generations. One of the most common, foolish, and mischievous habits is that of narnin~ ba- bies after historic characters, or persons who have achieved contemporaneous dis- tinction. The smaller the chance the children have of ever achieving any resem- blance to those with whose title they are crushed from the first, the greater the likelihood of the bestowal of such titles. A narrow and ignorant man, living in some rural and semi-civilized region, is more inclined to call his boy, born under every disadvantage of circumstances, after some celebr~ ted poet or scholar, than a wealthy and cultivated citizen would be on whom fatherhood had fallen. A wo- man to whom fate has always been un- kind, whom poverty and toil have narrow- ed and vulgarized, blindly reaches out toward tIme ideal by stamping her grace- less and commonplace daughter with a name acquired from a popular romance.

JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. IT was natural enough for Juliet Cap- ulet, intensely romantic and hungry- hearted, to ask, Whats in a name? and to declare that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. But suppos- ing Romeo had been called Breyfogle or Flapdoodle, would she or could she have loved him so passionately? In all proba- bility she would not and could not. J3rey- fogle or Flapdoodle would act UPOfl senti- ment like sea-sickness; and even Juliet could not withstand either if belonging to the hero of her heart. Juliet was a very sweet though pain- fully sentimental girl, and has made the old Osteria del Cappello in Verona a ro- mantic shrine fur generations. Still, as she was not much of a philologist or a philosopher, it is undertaken to answer the question she did not care to aus er for herself. Without considering names to be of such solemn import as Tristr~m Shandys father did, he certainly had good grounds for his belief. No one can measure the influence of names, which are things and powers, often too strong for resistance and too subtle to he apprehended. Though generally esteemed to be altogether exter- nal and inoperative, they are the strongest of circumstances~ and soon grow into cau- ~ation. They affect the bearer, not so much, but in the same way, as tempera- ment, trainin~, health, and immediate surroundings. Before long they enter into and become part of the man, who can no more be dissociated from his name than he can from his complexion, manners, or character. The fate of many persons is determined by their christening. It makes or mars their future; paves their way with smoothness or besets it with ob- stacles; responds to their hopes or blasts their expectations. Parents are stupidly careless in this re- gard. Children are born to their names, not the names adapted to them. Even before they make their debut on the stage of existence, it is settled wh~ t they shall be called. A small army of relatives and friends, who seem to take a malignant sat- isfaction in all consanguineous peopling 7 of tIme planet, expect new-comers to re- ceive their pr~nomina if not their patro- nymics. The more inapt and ill-sounding these are, the larger their expectations and the greater their demands. Perhaps, havin~ themselves suffered from absurd or grotesque christening, they are anxious that others should suffer likewise. At least half of what is styled sympathy arises from miserys proverbial love of company. Not one woman in five, and not one man in fifty, is fitted to be a moth- er or a father; and for this reason, J sup- pose, thanks to nature and to destiny, celibates of either sex are rare cxceptioas~ If parents were wise (but many of them, to employ a Iliberuicism, would in that case never be parents at all), they would resist all counsels, suggestions, and temptations to label their offi~pring until they had some means of ascer- taining what their offspring was likely to be. It would be a good general rule not to name children before their eighth or tenth year, though, for the sake of convenience and designation, they might be~ given a temporary appellation. Assuredly this would save endless awk- wardness, annoyance, and chagrin for lit- ture generations. One of the most common, foolish, and mischievous habits is that of narnin~ ba- bies after historic characters, or persons who have achieved contemporaneous dis- tinction. The smaller the chance the children have of ever achieving any resem- blance to those with whose title they are crushed from the first, the greater the likelihood of the bestowal of such titles. A narrow and ignorant man, living in some rural and semi-civilized region, is more inclined to call his boy, born under every disadvantage of circumstances, after some celebr~ ted poet or scholar, than a wealthy and cultivated citizen would be on whom fatherhood had fallen. A wo- man to whom fate has always been un- kind, whom poverty and toil have narrow- ed and vulgarized, blindly reaches out toward tIme ideal by stamping her grace- less and commonplace daughter with a name acquired from a popular romance. 102 JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. [JULY, It may he said that fair names may exer- and Solomons and Solons to be circus cisc a favorable influence, and serve as clowns and I make no question but the models and patterns for the namesake. former went in dis~ust to the opposite So they may, if there be any similarity extreme, or that the latter were resolved. or concord between the two; but when to caricature the ancient sages by becom- there is not, when the two natures are ing the most melancholy of fools. opposite, perchance antagonistic, the heavy A grievous sin, for which parents of capital overweights and wei~kens the the p st rather than the present genera- slender column. Names, to be beneficial tion must answer, is the giving of Scrip- and inspiring to their bearers, must ei- tural names to their children. However ther find or beget corresponding tenden- much the Scriptures may profit the mind cies. or mend the heart, the characters who The injury William Shakespeare, John figure in them must have despised aught Milton, George Washington, Daniel Web- like Tuscan sweetness. Ichabod, Jedidiah, ster, and a hundred others have done at Jeroboam, Aminadab, Jerusha, Meheta- the baptismal font can never be reckoned. bel, and Keturah, many have been very It is doubtful which would have been bet- good men and women in their way and terthat they should not have been born, for their time; bat their christening was or that the nominal wearers of their honors by no means felicitous, and there is no should not have been. I am sure hun- just reason why their cacophony should dreds of promising and naturally clever be transmitted. Kind as fortune might boys have been spoiled by indiscretions of be, she should not be asked to take into nomenclature. How can a sensitive and her favor anybody styled Ichabod or competent youth, with an ardent proclivi- Jerusha. Fame, of course, would not ty to and many gifts for literature, obey descend upon Jedidiah or Mehetabel, the bent of his inclination when everybody and few doors or arms would open to is aware that he is William Shakespeare welcome those who subscribed themselves Jones, or Smith, or Brown, or anything Jeroboam or Jehoshaphat. Since Cromn- else? He inevitably shrinks from com- wells time, and the nasal and indigo or- parison, dreading lest his efforts, credita- thodoxy of his followers, thousands of cx- ble as they may be, should be made con- cellent folks have had all the currents of temptible thereby. Can a healthy, im- their being turned awry by early plunges pulsive, warm-blooded lad, with Geor~e into Biblical terminology. Glory will Washington thrust upon him, be expect- not rise, honor will not appear, victory ed to accomplish anything, knowing as will not yield, love will not come to him he must that George Washington has or her whose worth and charm have been always been portrayed as the most unnat- sacrificed on the nominal altar of Joab or urally perfect and momentous of mortals? Jemima. There is a fhte in syllables and Who shall say how many retiring, clois- sounds that the strongest gods cannot tered natures have been embittered by overcome. A name that the lips cannot discovering in their first thinking years readily and smoothly pronounce, oracles how ridiculous their parents had made will not speak and aureolas will not sur- them by styling them Napoleon Bonaparte? round. Of course, they wrote only their initials, As a rule, all names that provoke com- and then were perpetually mortified to parison, comment, or conversion should hear themselves called Nota Bene Wig- be conscientiously avoided. When ma- gins or Take Notice Simpson. Boys, turity has arrived, they are of little con- bubbling over with animal spirits, and fond sequence; for force of character and per- of adventure, have doubtless been driven sonal dignity may annul their awkward- to vicious extremes by having John Calvin ness or grotesqueness. But the ordeal of or John Knox tacked to their patronym- boyhood and girlhood is severe. Then ics. The entire law of their being pre- nature is impressible, gibes are habitual, vented them from imitating those ascetic and tongues unrestrained. The finer the theologians, and so they deliberately be- fibre, the more sensitive. The child caine profligate from contradiction and whose name renders it a target for coarse from a vague, sense of the wron~ that had comparison or rude jest is not seldom hurt been put upon them. I have known Me- incurably. Nobody is aware of the un- lanchthons and Wilberforces to be thieves, told sufferings of young folks, and this is 1872.] JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. 103 one of the most prolific sources of their badgering and bullying. The tears, the anger, the bitterness, the heart-breaks from such cause are incalculable. Many boys and girls have had all their sweet- ness and strength taken out of them by repetition and ridicule of the syllables which establish their identity. Ere their career has fairly opened, they have been soured and rendered sinister by their early experiences. They never succeed; everything goes wrong; they have no ability to represent themselves; and all because an irremovable shadow fell upon them in their cradle from th~ opening leaves of an ill-chosen lexicon. Physi- cians have traced peculiar forms of mono- mania and insanity to morbid sensibility engendered by the possession of a name suggestive of banter and derision; and were our philosophy sufficiently far- searching, unbalanced and incongruous minds might be referred by the hundreds to a similar origin. Names are very often burlesques, even satires upon their owners, because they stand for the opposite of what their bear- ers possess. Mr. Wiseman, for instance, is notoriously a fool. Mr. White is black and Mr. Black is white. Thus names run to contraries, furnishing handles for sarcasm and irony, which the dullest are delighted to seize. Among the unrecognized calamities of this nether sphere is the ~,iving of senti- mental and poetic names to young women of an unmistakably material and prosaic quality. The sex is unconquerably ro- mantic, and many mothers are betrayed by this disposition into conferring upon their girls the verbal counterfeits that havecharmed them in their novel-reading days. This accounts for the throng of Belles, Blanches, Stellas, Evas, Violas, Berthas, Lillies, Claras, Graces, Agneses, Alices, and all the innumerable 1~est. I do not consider these names silly, as many do; for they are pretty and sweet. The peril of their use is that they may not be suitable; and then they become an evil. Names get their meaning unavoidably, it may be unconsciously, from association. All of us, who are not mathematicians or monsters, are more or less the sport of our imagination. We cannot resist the tyranny of words and their suggestions. Our reason tells us plainly that we have no right to expect personal loveliness from those who chance to be called Irene, Edith, or Imnogen. Still we yield to the seductiveness of our fancy, and finding Irene gaunt and uncouth, Edith fat and freckled, Imogen harsh-voiced and dow- dyish, we have an involuntary feeling that we have been duped, that there has been some deliberate attempt to deceive us. We wont admit that we have im- posed upon ourselves by mental photo- graphs created from the name we were foolish enough to idealize. If we should seek a thorough analysis, we should dis- cover that we resented the fact that a name we had devoted to msthetic uses should be wasted and profaned by com- mon clay. Whatever our experience and philoso- phy, we are constantly making demands on potentialities that may not be met. We insist to ourselves and everyb& ly else that we do not, and we believe our re- peated averment; and yet our lurking thought peeps out at us ever and anon, and surprises us with the startlingly fa- miliar truth. We never quite reconcile the obnoxious differences between the Berthas and Stel- las and Violas of fact and those of fiction. We involuntarily hold that the possessors of graceful and melodious names shall themselves be graceful and melodious through every variation of manner, mood, and temperament. Had Eva been plain Betsyor Clara, Hannahor Alice, Jane, we might have appreciated them to the fullest. Having no anticipations, we could not have been disappointed, and without the magic of fancy there would have been no spells to undo. Looki.n~ for plainness and humdrui~, the smallest departure from it becomes a surprise and a pleasure; while looking for beauty and fascination, the absence of either is a shock and repulsion. No young woman of sensitiveness, since women before mar- riage are taught that it is their chief if not sole duty to pleaseand their instinct helps them to this lessoncan be content- ed with or resi~ned to a name she knows gives false impressions of her and steadily invites her acquaintances to disappoint- mentto the painful reaction fmm falsely excited hope. Anxiety to shun one extreme begets the other. Damsels are frequently burtheneL with names that they have not the strength to bear, and that their taste spontaneous- 1:04 JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. [JULY, ly rejects. Among these are Mary Ann, Belinda, Hannah Jane, Nancy, Johanna, Patience, Melissa, Iluldali, Dorothy, and Chloe. I question if any she in the land ever endured one of these names with un- ruffled temper. They have heen adapted to all sorts of saws and jokes, until a man of sensibility feels like apologizin,. for past utterances to any unhappy creature so christened. To give a girl two names aadto couple them invariably in address- ing heras Mary Jane or Eliza Annis as strong an evidence of unculture and ill-breeding as to pronounce the final a flat. The significance of names is as variable as the clouds, depending on conditions too delicate to be defined. Still, names have what might be termed a quality of aver- age association, which translates them to the mind in not materially different hues and forms. Nobody considers Jerusha ~fascinating or Mabel repulsive. Sibyl suggests softness and fineness, and Angeli- na mawkish sentiment. Blood and breed- ing seem to lie in Edith, and inelegance and rusticity in Priscilla. Mary, whom bards have made tunef 1 in many tongues, has lost such savor as she might have had from excess of handling. We think of her now in connection with almost any- thing else than grace and loveliness. Kate is interesting, though she conveys a certain impression of wildness approach- ing hoidenhood. Pauline isackadaisical, pretentious, and shallow. Ruth is sim- ple, genuine, winning, full of modesty and merit, and sterling to the core. Ada and ida show gentleness without strength, and delicacy rather than discernment. Alice is what circumstances may make herpretty and spoiled, needing trial for development, adversity for elevation. Amy is a child always, even after mater- i~ity and maturity, and nothing can ren- der her otherwise. Stiffness, self-con- sciousness, and angularity emanate from Arabella; and Augusta should be conse- quential and inflated without desert. A certain hot-house air might surround. Blanche and Bertha, and they should be kept there if it be desirable to preserve their freshness and their fragrance. Clara, not to belie herself, should be pure, affectionate, and free, carrying with her the form and daintiness of distinction. Kliza is plain but profound, and Ella a slender echo of what she imitates. When the average man seeks for a wife, despis- ing romance and discardin~, the ideal, he should sue to Esther, who will perform. all she promises, becoming the most con- scientious of housekeepers, the most de- voted slave of the nursery. A thorough scatterbrain is Fanny, whom trouble spares and adversity does not touch. Helen is precocious at sixteen, a coquette till five-and-twenty, and an ambitious and match-making mamma, while she absents herself from heaven to dischar~e her duty to society. Isabella should be tall and dignified and clever, laughing at what she most sincerely believes, and wounding with Parthian arrows her well guarded heart. Julia has a tendency to be in love with herself; undisturbed by rivals. She sees in her mirror the beauties others fail to discover, and her much-proclaimed righteousness is but a phase of her con- ceit. Jane is likely to suffer from lack of appreciation, for she wears her jewels out of sight, and is content to be misunder- stood when understanding demands any betrayal of herself. in sentimental woes Leonora is ever bound; is most happy when most distressed. Louise has a spice of affectation, but is engaging at first and enchanting at last to those she admits to the sanctuary of her sympathy. The im- age of Madeleine is shown in the strictest conventionality. She is a well-bred au- tomaton; dresses admirably, talks fault- lessly, acts becomin~ly; is, in a word, a reflection of her surroundin~,s because she has not sufficient force to vary from her pattern. Maude affects Tennyson and tears, mus- lin of the whitest and misery of the black- est sort., She is a distillation of simper, silliness, and sentimentalism. Miriam, Penelope, Cordelia, and Rachel need to be stately, calm, and self-sustainedadmired by many, esteemed by all, and beloved by one. Phcebe and Phillis are not urbane in mind or manners. They are prominent figures in a landscape filled with farms and farm-houses, andcommend themselves warmly to the swain credulous enough to believe that God the first garden made and the first city Cain. The heart of gallan- try does not throb at mention of Susannah, who rises to the fancy with milk-and-wa- ter eyes, unshapely mouth, and an ill-fit- ting gown; but it beats wildly to the sweet syllables of Violas name, and awaits with eager expectancy the regal 1872.1 JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. 106 presence of Zenobia, too lofty to be light- ly loved. To our own names we tyrants of the egotisti~ sort give little thought. In our work-day world we care more for what a man can do than for what he is called. And yet we have our prej udices in favor of and against masculine names. Some seem strong, others weak; and affectation, genuineness, presumption, or character is conveyed by the mode in which one of our fellows subscribes himself. In this coun- try usually we are obliged, in the absence of caste and the law of entail, to be prac- tical and democratic whether we will or no. Struggle and labor do not take the poetry out of us, unless they take it out of our iliouths and put it in our lives; but they render us too busy to spin theories in the presence of so many bristling facts. John, Joseph, Thomas, Samuel, George, William, etc., stand for so much energy, intelligence, selfishness, insincerity, and competition. No name, unless backed by deeds, can be despotic in the arena of bu- siness. If there be force and courage enou,,h behind it, Ichabod Snicklefritz certainly not a title to melt the muses or to draw the bees of Hybla from their sweetswould be esteemed and honored of his kind. Men appear not undignified while they are preserved from such flip- pant abbreviations as Bill, Bob, and Pete. Imagine Agamemnons name to have been Pete, or Achilless to have been fill. Could Homer have written his resonant hexameters under such a pressure of nominal disqualification? Clytemnestra might have found excuse in violated eu- phony for her disloyalty to Pete Agamem- non, and Patroclus as well for betraying Achilles known as Bill. Almost any name will serve a mans purpose if honestly borne, and if it estab- lish his identity. The plainer it is, the better ~enerally. since peculiarity of title creates reputation for assumption or con- ceit. Superlatively common as John is, I can think df no name more desirable. It is strong, earnest, sterling. John might be anythingpoet, painter, soldier, arti- san, peasant, prince, orator, or statesman without the least maiming or marring of itself. The name promises nothing, dis- appoints nobody, and still has all the pos- sibilities of achievement. John Smith, John Brown, and John Jones are excellent designations, or rather would be were they in any manner distinctive. The main ob- jection to them is that he who bears them is, a large part of the time, incapable of selfrecognition. He is ceaselessly suffer- ing from hardship, disgrace, and death, without consciousness thereof It must be somewhat unpleasant and rather con- fusing for John Smith to learn, while he breaks his mornin~, muffin, that, the day before, he was run over by a street-car in New York, shot by a burglar in Boston, sentenced for forgery in Albany, arrested for bigamy in Baltimore, drowned in Mobile, compelled to run away from St. Louis for embezzlement, divorced in Chi- ca~o, a victim of delirium tremens in Detroit, and hanged by a mob in Chey- enne. John, William, James Brown or Thompson would fare no better. Any one of these gentlemen must die many times before his death. He may be as honest as Hans Sachs, or as blameless as F~nilon, and yet he will be discovered pickin~ pockets, stealing horses, abusing children, beating his wife, firing churches, and swindling his partner in business. The highest moral character and the most unsullied reputation is absolutely requisite for the owner of a common name. Once tainted with suspicion, he may be held responsible for all the misde- meanors and crimes the innumerable John Smiths, William Browns, and J~ mes Thoinpsons commit. I have heard of fel- lows of tarnished fame who changed their very common names because, as they al- leged, they had offences enough of their own to answer for without accountability for the offences of others. The inconvenience and annoyance of be- ing a member of the Smith, Jones, Brown, or Robinson family ct~n scarcely be overestimated. Such a member has no more individuality than if he were set down among, the and five hundred oth- ers advertised as callers of a public meeting. He is obliged to spend a very considerable part of his life in explana- tions and setting himself right with his acquaintances. If extremely dignified and conservative, he is disturbed by re- ceiving eccentric letters in which he is ad- dressed as old buster, and cordially in- vited to bet his pile on the New York cocks in the next Long Island main. If conscientiously orthodox and devout, he is often urged by hasty notes to con~e up to Bobs or llarrys the next 106 JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. JULY, Sunday, and take a hand at draw. Though a model husband and father, he is shocked ever and anon at opening missives from strange women evidently designed for gentlemen far from fanatical on the subject of domesticity. So unpleasant is this nominal indefi- niteness that, much as I believe in strictly adhering to ones name as given, I do not wonder men add to or take from their original names for the sake of personal distinction. It is not singular that John Smith, after much experience of his ina- bility to tell who he is, determines to offer an amendment to himself, and become J. Cmsar Smith, J. X. Smith, or John M~nelaus Smith. Joseph Brown is ex- cusable for converting himself into Jo- seph Johannes Brown, or J. Wallen- stein Brown, or any kind of Brown that will enable him to secure his own cor- respondence, and prevent him from be- ing dunned for other persons bills. All the Joneses, Robinsons, Thompsons, and the remainder of the common substantive people, have equal justification, in trim- mine, their names into somethin~ like in- dividuality; for, as I have said, this is of the first importance. Many men feel hurt when their names are not remembered exactly, forgetting that the great. majority of us are of no consequence to anybody but ourselves. 1bey who are sensitive in this regard should never write their initials only, since initials are too vague for recollection. If you see or hear that an acquaintance is called Robert E. or Stephen Charles, you carry it inlour mind much more easily than if you merely know he is R. E. or S. C. somethin~ or other. I am cogni- zant of offence having been taken by cer- tain men because acquaintances, with whom they had long had business rela- tions, could not recall their initials. If these were N. G., the persons of brief memory would at one time make them K. P., at another S. Y., and again A. B., until those so addressed considered them- selves to be deliberately made butts, and resented it accordin~ly. A prejudice has taken deep root against the writin~ of the first name with the ini- tial, and the second name full, though this is as baseless as are most prejudices. If one cant do what he likes with his own name, where and with what can he be free? A mann s name is certainly his own property, and if he choose to turn or twist it into any shape, however fantastic, stire- ly it is his own affair. Every one is will- ing to admit this, and yet J. Dryden Wil- liams and E. Spencer Watkins are liable to be looked upon as coxcombs or jack- daws, until they have established the con- trary. Doubtless, many shallow and pompous fellows have subscribed them- selves in this fashion, and so created the prevailing bias. I repeat that when & ne can transform himself from a common to a proper noun by economy in his first and profusion in his second name, he should be held as discreet rather than silly. A striking peculiarity of human nature is that it troubles itself most about that which concerns it least. hence it is, I opine, that names affecting their bearers alone attract so much and such general attention, becoming the theme of comment and criticism by every pra~matist and dullard ambitious to be thought astute. He who has a name capable of ridicule needs the fortification of character, that the shots aimed at it may fall harmless. The greater part of mankind have all they can do to get through life when let alone severely; and consequently, if they draw the arrows of satire, they are hopelessly crippled. Thus the importance of names in shaping the fortune of the individual becomes apparent. They who might have floated with an unnoticeable or unconverti- ble prtenomen or patronymic, are carried down by a handle that everybody is in- clined to take a pull at. It is rather nimfortunate to have a blend- ing of the romantic and ultra-practical, the sentimental and the grotesque, in the same name.~ Leander Butts, Romeo Simp- kins, Orlando Stubbs, Claude Lorraine Stiggins, or Sidney Au~ustus Longshanks is not of the kind to weave verses about or hang garlands on. The riot act should be read to such names, that they might be dispersed, and like returned to like. Le- ander, Romeo, and Claude are good, and Butts, Simpkins, and Stig~im1s are good also in and of themselves; but they should not have been united, thereby provokin~ blockheads to the perpetration of jokes worn out in the service and long since placed on the retired list. Reputation, I am led to believe, hangs on or slips from names according to their quality. The vocal organs of Fame are limited. She cannot pronounce every 1872.1 JULIETS QUESTION ANSWERED. 107 name she hears, or, if she can, she wont. Where so many come to her, she accepts those most easily uttered and reject5 the hard syllables, whatever their recommen- dation. Our own country shows this. Geor~,e Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, and many others might be ~cited to confirm this position. The people find these apt to their tongue and easy to write; and I make no question, if they had been studded with harsh consonants and oblique vowels, some of them would have been dropped from the bead-roll of his- tory. Fashion governs names, as in these days she governs everythingespecially the names of women. These are almost as much a matter of mode as the cUt of gowns or the form of ha . Feminine names have for years tended to diminutives, pet- ty prettinesses, and uniform terminations. There are no longer any Marys, Sarahs, Carolines, and Catherines they have become Mollies, Sallies, Carries, and Katies; and even the sober Jane, Maria, Harriet, and Nancy have been finicalized into Jennie, Marie, Hattie, and Nannie. Out of Arabella, Martha, Lucy, Lois, Margaret, Esther, and Elizabeth are moulded Bella or B~dle, Maud, Lucie, Lucia, or Lab, Louise, Maggie or Madge, Edith, Lizzie, Bessie, or Lillie. This last is now the vogue. Every social partem~re blossoms with Lillies. Most of these, when taken from the conservatory, were differently called; but fashionable botany demands a new nomenclature, and that divers varieties should be homonymous. This nominal alteration is a privilege of the sex, and, added to the general habit in favor of marriage, so shif the out- ward signs that all trace of a damnsel swallowed up in wedlock is easily lost. In passing from the individual to the uni- versal, she eludes pursuit, defies detec- tion, shatters identity. A not uncommon manner men have of disguising themselves is by the sudden and luxuriant blossoming from the modest bud of famniliar appellation. Ones auto- graph, to lay mind, should always be full; but when your old neighbor or asso- ciate has been his whole life long R. B. Anderson or A. P. Miles, you are natu- rally startled and somewhat overcome to behold him, without a moments warning, as Robert Bruce Anderson or Augustus Pericles Miles. You cannot help accost- ing with some diffidence the intimate whe has undergone such a revolution in a sin- gle day, and you are inclined to question whether, after such a tremendous exten- sion of the name, there can be much of the original fellow left. Anybody might jest or hobnob with plain 11. B. Anderson or A. P. Miles, though no well-ordered per- son would think of approaching with levity such august personages as would seem to be represented by Robert Bruce Anderson or Augustus Pericles Miles. These metamorphoses of epithet are disturbers of tranquillity, assaults on con- fidence, blows at friendship. They are not to be censured or discouraged; but no man should hurl them upon his little sphere without due deliberation and pre- monition. A good plan would be to ad- vertise in the public prints that on and after such a date T. C. Jones and E. E. Scroggs would be known and addressed in their private and professional capacity as Tullius Cicero Jones and Euryptolemus Epaminondas Scroggs. Thus equ ani~nity would be respected, personality consulted, and amazement toned to admirations pitch. It is easier to ask, Whats in a name? than to answer it; for the answer comes. slowly, through long years, through in- tricate circumstances, but it always comes, and though like the Delphic oracle it is ambiguous, it has a deep sig-~ nificance, and on its correct translation favor, fate and fortune often hang. Juxius HEsam BaowNE. VISIONSA PHANTASY. I. FOR a long time I tried in vain to sleep and kept tossing from side to side. The devil take all this nonsense of tipping tables, I said to myself, it cer- tainly shakes the nerves. At length, how- ever, drowsiness began to get the upper hand. Suddenly it seemed to me that a harp- string twanged feebly in my chamber. I lifted my head. The moon was low in t~ae sky and shone full in my face; its light lay like a chalk-mark on the carpet. The strange sound was distinctly repeated. I raised myself on my elbow, my heart beat forcibly. A minute passed soan- otherthen in the distance a cock crowed an4i a second answered him from yet further. My head fell back on the pillow. It comes even to that, I thought, my ears are fairly ringing. In a moment more I was asleep, or seemed to myself to be sleeping. I had a singular dream. I thought That I was in my own chamber, in my own bed, wide awake. Suddenly I hear the noise again. I turn. The moonbeam on the floor be- gins to waver, to rise, to take shape, stands motionless before me like the white figure of a woman, transparent as mist. Who are you? 1 ask, trying to re- tain my composure. A voice resembling the soughing of the wind among tree-tops answers me. It is III. I am come for you. For me? But who are you? Come at ni~htfimll to the old oak tree at the edge of the wood. Ii will be there. I wish to see more closely the features of this mysterious being; an involuntary celd shudder runs through me. I find myself not lying, but in a sitting posture on my bed, and where the appearance of the figure was there, is a long pal# moon streak on the floor. II. I DO not know how tbe next day passed. I tried, I remember, to read and to work a little, but could accomplish nothing. Night fell;, my heart beat as if I had been expecting some one. I went to bed and turned my face to the wall. Why did you not come? The whisper was plainly audible in the cham- ber. Hastily I turned my head. There was the form again, the mysteri- ous being with fixed eyes in its rigid countenance, and an expression of woe. Come? I heard faintly. I will come, I answered with un- controllable terror. The shape wavered, sank into itself like a puff of smoke, and once more it was only the wan moonlight that lay on the smooth floor. Ill. I PASSED the day in excitement. At tea I nearly emptied a bottle of wine, and for a moment stood hesitating at the open door, but almost immediately turned back and threw myself upon may couch. The blood rushed at fever-speed through my veins. Again I heard the tones. I shrank, but w~uld not look up. Then suddenly I felt myself tightly clasped by something, and a whisper in my very ear, Come, come, come! Trembling with fright I stam- mered, I will come, and raised myself upright. The womans form was bendin~ over the head of my bed. It smiled slightly, and faded, but not before I had been able to distinguish the features. It seemed to me that I ha.d seen them before, but wherewhen? it was late when I rose, and I spent almost the whole day in the fresh air, went to the old oak tree at the edge of the wood and re~arded it thorough ly. Toward evening 1 seated myself be- side the open window in my study. My housekeeper brought me a cup of tea, but 1 was unabhs to taste it. All sorts of thoughts besieged me, and I pskod myself seriously whether I was not on the road to madness. It was just after sunset, and not only the sky but the whole atmosphere was suddenly suffused with 0 smnernntural

VISIONSA PHANTASY. I. FOR a long time I tried in vain to sleep and kept tossing from side to side. The devil take all this nonsense of tipping tables, I said to myself, it cer- tainly shakes the nerves. At length, how- ever, drowsiness began to get the upper hand. Suddenly it seemed to me that a harp- string twanged feebly in my chamber. I lifted my head. The moon was low in t~ae sky and shone full in my face; its light lay like a chalk-mark on the carpet. The strange sound was distinctly repeated. I raised myself on my elbow, my heart beat forcibly. A minute passed soan- otherthen in the distance a cock crowed an4i a second answered him from yet further. My head fell back on the pillow. It comes even to that, I thought, my ears are fairly ringing. In a moment more I was asleep, or seemed to myself to be sleeping. I had a singular dream. I thought That I was in my own chamber, in my own bed, wide awake. Suddenly I hear the noise again. I turn. The moonbeam on the floor be- gins to waver, to rise, to take shape, stands motionless before me like the white figure of a woman, transparent as mist. Who are you? 1 ask, trying to re- tain my composure. A voice resembling the soughing of the wind among tree-tops answers me. It is III. I am come for you. For me? But who are you? Come at ni~htfimll to the old oak tree at the edge of the wood. Ii will be there. I wish to see more closely the features of this mysterious being; an involuntary celd shudder runs through me. I find myself not lying, but in a sitting posture on my bed, and where the appearance of the figure was there, is a long pal# moon streak on the floor. II. I DO not know how tbe next day passed. I tried, I remember, to read and to work a little, but could accomplish nothing. Night fell;, my heart beat as if I had been expecting some one. I went to bed and turned my face to the wall. Why did you not come? The whisper was plainly audible in the cham- ber. Hastily I turned my head. There was the form again, the mysteri- ous being with fixed eyes in its rigid countenance, and an expression of woe. Come? I heard faintly. I will come, I answered with un- controllable terror. The shape wavered, sank into itself like a puff of smoke, and once more it was only the wan moonlight that lay on the smooth floor. Ill. I PASSED the day in excitement. At tea I nearly emptied a bottle of wine, and for a moment stood hesitating at the open door, but almost immediately turned back and threw myself upon may couch. The blood rushed at fever-speed through my veins. Again I heard the tones. I shrank, but w~uld not look up. Then suddenly I felt myself tightly clasped by something, and a whisper in my very ear, Come, come, come! Trembling with fright I stam- mered, I will come, and raised myself upright. The womans form was bendin~ over the head of my bed. It smiled slightly, and faded, but not before I had been able to distinguish the features. It seemed to me that I ha.d seen them before, but wherewhen? it was late when I rose, and I spent almost the whole day in the fresh air, went to the old oak tree at the edge of the wood and re~arded it thorough ly. Toward evening 1 seated myself be- side the open window in my study. My housekeeper brought me a cup of tea, but 1 was unabhs to taste it. All sorts of thoughts besieged me, and I pskod myself seriously whether I was not on the road to madness. It was just after sunset, and not only the sky but the whole atmosphere was suddenly suffused with 0 smnernntural 1872.] VISIONSA PHANTASY. 100 purple light; leaves and weeds, smooth as if freshly varnished, were alike mo- tionless, there was something singular, almost mysterious, in this absolute quiet, this dazzling sharpness of outline, this combination of intense glow with the still- ness of death itself. A large gray bird flew noiselessly toward me and settled it- self upon the balustrade of my balcony. I looked at it and it looked at me, its head sideways, with its round, dusky eye. Are you sent to remind me? I thought. The bird spread its wings and flew away as silently as it had come. I re- mained at the window for some time longer, but no longer absorbed in thought. I seemed to be under a spell, a gentle but irresistible power controlled me, as the boat is swept on by the current long be- fore the cataract is in sight. When I re- gained possession of myself the glow was gone from the sky which had grown dark and the enchanted stillness had ceased. A light breeze had sprung up, the moon rode bright and brighter through the blue expanse, and in her cold light the trees shimmered, half dusk half silver. My old servant entered with a lamp, but the draught from the window extinguished the flame. I waited no longer, thrust my hat on my head and hurried to the old oak tree at the edge of the wood. Iv.. YEARS ago this oak had been struck by lightning; its top was shivered and en- tirely blasted, but the trunk had still vigor for coming centuries. As I ap- proachel, a filmy cloud drew over the moon; blackest shadow lay under the broad branches. At first I was not con- scious of anything unusual, but as I glanced to one side my heart throbbeda white form was standin~ motionless by a tall sapling between inc and the tree. My hair stood on end, but I plucked up cosrage and walked steadily on. Yes, it was she, my nightly visitant. As I drew near, the moon shone out in full splendor. The figure seemed woven, as it were, out of a half transparent milky cloud; through the face I could see a twig that stirred with the wind, only the hair and the eyes were of a somewhat darker coloring, and~on one finger of the folded hands I saw the faint glimmer of a nar~ow ring. I remained standing be- fore it and attempted to speak to it, but my voice died in my throat; although I was no longer sensible of fear. Its glance was full upon me, the expression was neither of grief nor of gladness but a rigid, unlife-like attention. I waited to be addressed, but it kept immovable and eilent with its death-like stare fixed on me. Again I felt my self-possession fail- ing. I am come, I said at last with a mighty effort. My voice was hollow and unnatural. I love you, returned a whisper. You love me? I asked in amaze- ment. Give yourself to me, was answered, still in the same tone. Give myself to you? You are only a ghost. You have no bodily existence. A peculiar excitement had taken posses- sion of me. What are you? Smoke. airvapor? Give myself up to you? First answer mewho are you? Have you lived on earth? And whence do you now come? Give yourself to me. I will do you no ill. Say but two words: take me. I looked at it attentively. What is it talking about? I thought. What does it all mean? How can it take me? Shall I venture? Very good, I answered so that it should hear, with unexpected loudness in- deed as if some one had hit me from be- hind, Takeme! I had hardly pronounced the syllables when the form bent forward with a smile so that the features trembled for a mo- inent, and slowly extended its arms. I would him have drawn back but found it already out of my power. It twined about me, may body w~s caught up a yard from the ground, and gently and not too rapidly I floated over the still and dewy grass. V. Mv. head swam. involuntarily I closed my eyes, only to open them, however, the next moment. We were still floatin~, up- ward. But the wood was no longer to be sees. Under us lay a wide plain, flecked here and there with shadow. With hor- ror I realized that we had gained a fearful height. 110 VISIONSA PHANTASY. [JULY, I am lost. I am in the Devils cluich- was the thought that shot lightning- like through my brain. Till this moment the idea of demoniacal interference in my undertaking had not occurred to me. We were borne constantly farther and took our fli~ht higher and higher as it appeared. Where are you takin~ me? burst from me at length. Wherever you will, answered my guide. It clung closer and closer to me, its face almost touching my own. Yet I could not feel the contact. Take me back to the earth. This height makes me giddy. Good; only shut your eyes and hold your breath. I followed this counsel and found my- self immediately sinking like a stone, the wind fairly whistling through my hair. When I recovered myself we were hover- ing just above the ground, so that we stirred the tops of the grass blades. Put me down, I said, on my feet. I have had enough of flying. I am no bird. ~ 1 believed it would be pleasant to you. We have no other power. We? Who are you, then? No answer. Cant you tell me anything? A woful tone, like that which bad wakened me the first night, trembled at my ear. All this while we had been mov- iug almost imperceptibly through the damp night air. Set me down, I repeated. My guide moved quietly aside, and I stood upon my feet. It remained before me again with folded hands. 1 had regained my comp6- sure and looked closely in its face. There was the same expression of a melancholy not human. Where are we? I inquired, for I did not recognize my surroundings. You are far from home, but in a mo- ment you may be there. What? Must I trust myself to you again? I have done you no harm and will let none come to you. We can fly till dawn, not later. I can take you wherever you may desireto the ends of the earth. Resign yourself to me; say once more, take me. Then take me. Again she clasped me. I was lifted from the ground and we floated in air. VI. WHITHER? she asked me. On, strai~ht on. But here are trees. Rise above themonly gingerly. We soared upward and took once more an onward course. Instead of grass, the tops of the trees waved under our feet. The wood, seen from above, presented a singular appearance with its moonlighted, prickly back. It was like some monstrous sleepin~ creature, and the low, steady rustling of the leaves, like measured breath, carried the resemblance yet far- ther. Now and thcn we passed above a little clearing, along whose edge a charm- ingly indented line of shadow lay. Occa- sionally we heard below us the plaintive cry of a hare, nearer, the hoot of owls rang dolefully; the air was full of wild and piny smells; on all sides the moon- light lay absolute and cold, and high above our heads shone the Pleindes. Speedily we left time wood behind us, and debouched upon a plain through which some stream ran like a ribbon of maist. We flew along its bank over bushes that were still and heavy with dampness. Here the little waves swelled blue on the river, there they rose dark and threatening. Some~ timnes a fine faint fragrance rose in a won- derful fashion, as if the water were takimig life and soul; it was where the water- lilies unfolded their white petals in a maidenly splendor, conscious that no hand could reach them. The whim seized me to gather one of these, and behold me al- ready at the surface of the stream. There was an unpleasant sensation of moisture in my face as I broke the tough stem of a great flower. We flew from shore to shore like the jack-o-lanthorns which we saw glitterin~ about us, and which we seemed to chase. At times we hit upon whole fam- ilies of wild ducks squatting in a circle in a hollow of the reeds, but they did not stir; it was a chance if one or another would drowsily withdraw its head from its wing, look about it, and hasten to bury its beak again in the soft down, or make a feeble cackling accompanied by a shake of the whole body. We roused a heron; he emerged from a clump of ~~illows,stretched his legs, spread his clumasy wings, and flapped heavily away. Nowhere did a fish leap in the water, apparently they also slept. I had by this time become accus- tomed to the sensation of flying, and even 1872.] VISIONSA PHANTASY. 111 began to find it agreeable; every one who has dreamed of flying will understand this. I began to scrutinize the wonderful being who bore me, and whom I had to thank for these incredible experiences. .v-II. IT had the appearance of a woman with delicate, not Russian, features. Grayish- white, nearly transparent, with scarcely perceptible shading, it reminded nie of an alabaster vase, and once more seemed sud- denly, strangely familiar to me. May I talk to you? I asked it. Speak. I see a ring on your finger. You have lived on earth then, have been married? I stopped, but there was no answer. What is your name, or rather what was your name? You may call me Ellis. Ellis! That is an En~lish name. Are you an Englishwoman? have you known me before? Why have you appeared to me then? I love you. Welldoes this satisfy you? Yes; we are flying and circling to- gether in pure space. Ellis! I cried, can it be that you are a lost soul? My companions head sank. I do not understand~ she whispered. I conjure you in the name of God 1 began. What are you saying? sheasked, bewildered. And I fancied that the arm that surrounded me like a chill girdle, trembled slightly. Do not fear, my beloved. Ellis said, do not fear. Her face turned to mine and approached it closely, and I felt a cu- rious sens~ tion on my lips, like the prick of a fine needle. the peaceful light; a gray-white road ran still and straight as an arrow from one end of the city and ~anished still and straight in the dim distance among the monotonous fields. What is this city? I asked. sow. sow is in the schen province, is it not? Yes. Then we are a long way from home. For us distance is not. Truly? A sudden recklessness awoke in me. Take me to South America then. To Americathere I cannot. There it is day. So, we are birds o night then, both of us. Well, wherever you can, only let it be right far. Shut your eyes and hold your breath, was Elliss response, and we began to move with the swiftness of a hurricane. With stunning violence the wind rushed past my ears. We stopped, but the rushing sound did not cease. On the contrary, it increased to a frightful roar, like a thunder peal. Now you can open your eyes, Ellis said. Ix. I OBEYED. Qood Heavens, where am I? Over me heavy clouds are hurrying across the sky like a herd of angry beasts, and below is another monster, the sea, in wildest rage. White foam is spouting and seething madly, waves tower mour~tain- high and d shthemselves with hoarse fury against a gigantic, pitch-black reef Ev- erywhere the howling of the tempest, the icy breath of the revolted elements, the hollow roar of the breakers, through which at times I caught something like loud lamentations, distant cannon and the peal of bells; ear-splitting grate and crunch of the chalk clifl~, the sudden cry of an unseen gull, and against the gray horizon the outline of a reeling vessel VIII. everywhere confusion, horror, and death. I LOOKED down. We had again ascended My head swam, my heart stopped; I to a tremendous height and were flying closed my eyes anew. over a large city unknown to mime, which What is that and where are we? was built on the side of a high hill. Off the southerly coast of the Isle of Church-spires rose here and there from Wight, before the Bla ckgan~ Rock where the dark mass of roofs and gardens, a so many vessels are lost, replied Ellis, bridge arched the river-bend, everything this time with great distinctness of tone, lay in the deepest stillness, bound in sleep. and, as I fancied, a shade of joyous ex- Domes and crosses glimmered faintly in citement. 112 VISIONSA PHANTASY. [Jute, Take me away away from here home. I shrank into myself and pressed my hands over my eyes. I could feel that we were moving more swiftly than before; already the wind ceased to howl and shriek, it blew evenly in my face, but so stron~ly that I could hardly breathe. Take your foot-hold, I heard Ellis say. I made a mighty effort to regain my full consciousness and the mastery of myself. I felt the ground beneath my feet, but could hear no more than if everything about me lay dead; only on my own tem- ples the veins throbbed violently, une- venly, and with a little inward ringing; I was still half fainting. But I stood up and opened my eyes. x. WE were on the bank of my own pond. Straight before me I could see through the slender willow leaves the glassy surface of the water, dappled here and there with mist. On the ri,ht was a ryefleld in tremulous zuotion, on the left rose steady and dewy-wet the trees of my garden. The morning had already breathed on them. In the empty gray sky a pair of narrow clouds hung like smoke-wreaths; they were russet, the first faint hint of dawn had reached them, God knows how; the eye could not distinguish as yet any spot on the wide horizon where the day- li~ht should break. The stars were gone, there was no stir yet in the magical half- light everythin~, drew cohsciously to its awakening. Morning, morning is here! Ellis murmured in my ear. Farewell till to- morrow. I turned to her. She rose, lightly swaying, from the grourA, and lifted both arms above her head. Head, arms, and shoulders were suddenly suffused with a warm, rosy flesh tint, the fire of life glowed in the shadowy eyes, a smile of secret joy played over the scarlet lips, it was a charming woman all at once who stood before me. But almost instantly she sank back as if exhausted, and melted away like mist. I stood motionless. When things about me had reassumed the aspects of ordinary life, I looked round and it seemed to me as if the rosy glow that had irradiated the form of my shadowy companion had not faded, but still permeated the air and surrounded me on every side. It was the Dawn. Aa irresistible languor crept over me, and I went to the house. As I was passing the hennery my ear caught the first morn- ing gabble of the young geese (of all winged creatures these are the earliest to stir) and I saw the jackdaws perched on the ridge-pole busily preening their feath- ers and outlined sharply against tke milky-colored sky. From time to time they all flew off simultaneously and after a short flight settled again silently in their old places. From the wood at hand sounded twice or thrice the shrill cry of a mountain cock that bad alighted in the dewy grass to seek for berries there. With a slight chilliness in all my limbs 1 reached my own bed and sank at once into a profound sleep. XI. ON the following night as 1 neared the oak tree, Ellis glided to meet me as to- ward a liimiliar friend. Nor did I expe- rience the horror of yesterday in her pres- ence, indeed I was ahnost glad to see her; I did not even speculate on what might happen, but only desired to be taken to some great distance and to some interesting places. Ellis placed her arm about me and our flight began. Fly with me to Italy, I whispered in her ear. Where you will, my beloved, an- swered Ellis in low glad tones, and turn- ed her face to mine with a gentle ca- ressiug movement. She did not seem so nebulous as on the previous ni~ht; more substantial, more womanly, she brought to my recollection the beautiful creature who had vanished from me in the dawn. To-night is a festal night, she con- tinued. It falls but seldom; when seven times thirteen Here some words escaped me. On this night one can see things hid- den at other times. Ellis! I entreated, who are you then? Tell me at last! But she silently raised one white arms above her head. There in the dark sky where her finger pointed, a comet gleamed like a red rib- bon amon~ the stars. 1872.] VISIONSA PHANTASY. 113 How am I to understand you? I began. Do you mean that as yonder comet wanders foreyer between stars and planets, you wander betwen men and what other race, Ellis? Elliss hand covered my eyes. It seemed to me as if a thick river-fo~ veiled them. To Italy! to Italy! she whispered. This is a festal night. XII. THE mist before my face parted; I saw a vast plain under me. Already I could perceive by the warm, soft air which fanned my cheek that 1 was no lon~,,er in Russia, nor did the plain which I saw bear any resemblance to our Russian steppes. This was a vast dark expanse, apparently quite waste, not even grass- grown, with here and there pools of sta~- nant water which shone like the fra~- meats of a shattered mirror, and in the far distance I vaguely recognized the still unrippled sea. Lar~e stars shone throu~h the rents of the clouds; a ceaseless thou- sand-voiced, yet not a loud hum, rose up on all sides; wonderfully it rang, this pervading, drowsy murmur, this night voice of the ilderness. The Pontine Marshes, Ellis said. Do you hear the frogs? Do you smell the sulphur? The Pontine Marshes! I repeated with a sudden sense of depression. Why should we loiter over so dreary a place? Let ns hasten to Rome. Rome is not lhr, Ellis replied; pre- pare yourself! Our flight was along the old road from Latium. A wild ox lazily stretched his rough, shapeless head with its shaggy mane and its curving horns up from the sticky slime. He glared about him with his little evil eyes and blew a cloud of steam from his wet nostrils, as if he were defi- antly conscious of our presence. We are nearing Rome! whispered Ellis. Look, look up! 1 raised my eyes. What is the black line there at the worlds edge? Are those the high arches of a giant bridge? What is the stream that flows beneath? Why is it broken here and there? No, this is no bridge, it is an old aqueduct. Round .us lies the sacred Campagna; there in the distance are the Alb~n Hills, the rising moon gilds their summits and softens the ridge-line of the aqueduct. We checked ourselves abruptly, and hung poised in the air above a lonely ruin. No one could have declared its use in other times, whether palace, strong-hold or mausoleum. Black ivy clung to it on every side with its fatal embrace; the hal1~crumbled walls yawned like a ven- geance b