Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 32, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 826 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0032 /moa/harp/harp0032/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 32, Note on Digital Production 0032 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 32, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 32, Issue 187 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 826 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0032 /moa/harp/harp0032/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 32, Issue 187 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York December 1865 0032 187
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 32, Issue 187, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAA~AZJNE. VOLUME XXXII. DECEMBER, 1865, TO MAY, 1866. NEW YOI~K: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 327 to 335 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1866. A. 4j9~ A? - z I4~14 1(- / .- d CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXXIII ADULTERATION, ETHICS OF F. M. Brewer 635 AMERICAN TEOPLE STARVED. (Illustrated) Catherine E. Beecher 762 ARMADALE. (Illustrated) Wilkie Collins 67, 188, 327, 446, 601, 738 ASPIRATIONS 66 ATLANTIC, CHRISTMAS VOYAGE ACROSS THE Robert D. Carter 497 AUNT ESTHERS STORY Julia C. R Dorr 439 BATTLE MEMORIES J. W. De Forest 503 BIRDS AT HOME. (Illustrated) Mary Titcornb 545 BIRDSTHEIR MIGRATIONS AND SOJOURNINGS S. T. Frost 233 BLACKWELLS ISLAND LUNATIC ASYLUM. (Illustrated) W. H. Dave~zport 273 BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD (Illustrated) John Bonner 139 BURROWERS AT HOME, THE. (Illustrated) Mary Titconzb 421 CAST AWAY Robert D. Carter 724 CHRISTMAS GUESTS Julia F. Snow 353 CHRISTMAS TIME, AT N. G. Shepherd 113 CHRISTMAS TO NEW-YEARS EVE George C. McWhorter 164 COMMON STORY, A Dinah M. Mulock 31 CUMBERLAND, THE Herman Melville 474 DANGEROUS WOMAN, A Jane Thorneypine 616 DEATH Caroline Seymour 85 DEATH AND SISYPHUS Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 641 DIAMONDS AND OTHER GEMS. (Illustrated) John Bonner 343 DODS, MR., SIX SHOTS George F~ Harrington 207 DREAM-READING John Bonner 645 EDITORS DRAWER. DRAWER rox~ DECEMBER 131 DRAWER FOR MARCH 535 DRAwER FOR JANUARY 2G2 DRAWER FOR APRIL 671 DRAWER FOR FEBRUARY 400 DRAWER FOR MAY 809 EDITORS EASY CHAIR. CnAnI FOR DECEMBER 121 CHAIR FOR MARCH 519 CHAIR FOR JANUARY 250 CHAIR FOR APRIL 658 CHAIR FOR FEBRUARY 386 CHAIR FOR MAY 800 ELDERTHORPES IDEA ~George D. Tallrnan 586 ELLET, CHARLES, AND STEAM RAMS. (Illustrated) John S. C Abbott 295 EUTHANASY N. G. Shepherd 294 FATED WORDS M. Schele De Vere 202 FIRST AND LAST Louise Chandler Moulton 44 FIVE MINuTES LATE. (Illustrated) 186 FLAG THAT TALKS, THE C~1zarles Landor 733 GALENA AND ITS LEAD MINES. (Illustrated) . 681 GRAY JOCKEY, THE Fitz Hugh Ludlow 504 HEROIC DEEDS OF HEROIC MEN. (Illustrated) John S. C Abbott 295, 567 iv CONTENTS. HOLIDAYS, THE George C. Mc Wlsorter 164, 338 HOUSTON, SAM, LAST YEARS OF George IV. Paschal 630 IN AND AROUND RICHMOND. (Illustrated) Edward C~. Bruce 409 IN MEMORY Richard Realf 239 INDIAN SUMMER. (Illustrated) Guroline Seymour 312 INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR, AN Fitz Hs~h Ludlow 173, 313 KATE Mary N. Prescott 778 KUNG, THE CHINESE PRINCE OF. (Illustrated) William H. Martin 584 LITERARY NOTICES. Carlyles Frederick the Great, 254. Saunderss Festi. Noted Names of Fiction; Bosvless Across the Conti- val of Song; Doolittles S jal Life of the Cisinese; nent; Bonners Childs Uistory of the Rebellion; Wellss MGilchrists Richard Cobden, 256. Nicholss Great Life of Samuel Adams; Livingstones Expedition to the March; Bowmans Sherman and his Generals; Conyng- Zambesi, 525. Drapers Text-Book of Anatomy, Physi. hams March through the South; Abbotts Prison Life; ology, and Hygiene; Hans Brinker; Adamss Story of Murdocks History of Nova Scotia; Hollands Plain a Trooper; James Louis Petigro, 526. Notes from the Talks; Schieffelins Foundations of History; Wrights Plymouth Pulpit; Fr5nciss Old New York; Frenaus Oil Regions of Pennsylvania, 257. Anguss Bible Hand. Poems of the American Revolution; Nasts Commenta. hook; Matrimonial Infelicities; Atlanta in Calydon; ry on the Gospels; Mrs. Gaskells Wives and Daugh. MCoshs Intuitions of the Mind; Wilisons Interme- lers; A Noble Life; The Belton Estate; Guy Deverell; diate Readers, 258. Footes War of the Rebellion, 524. Reuben Daviger, 527. Havens Pilgrims Wallet; Wheelers Dictionary of LIVINGSTONES LAST AFRICAN EXPEDITION. (Illustrated) A. H. Guernsey 709 LONGWOOD. Roth Harper 792 LUCY SNOWTE, CHARLOTTE BRONTES Susan M. 1 Faring 368 LUNATIC ASYLUM, BLACKWELLS ISLAND. (Illustrated) If. II. Davenport 273 MAKING TILE MAGAZINE. (Illustrated) A. IL Gssernsey 1 MARRIAGES, HAPPY AND UNHAPPY J. If. Perkins 119 MARRIAGE A LA MODE A/fred L. Carroll 758 MARCH TO THE SEA, THE Herman Melville 366 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. UNITED STAves.Release of Alex. II. Stephens and others, 125. Address of John H. Reagan, 125. State- ments of the President, 126. Ills Policy declared, 126. The North Carolina Convention, 126. The Ordinances, 127. The Georgia Convention, 127, 259. The Presi- dent on the Rebel War Debt, 127. Inaugural of the Governor of Mississippi, 127. Southern Delegates to Congress, 128, 258, 505. The Test Oath, 128. State. mont of A. II. H. Stuart, 128. Elections in Pennsyl- vania, Ohio, and Iowa, 128. In South Carolina, 129. The Public Debt, 129, 394, 663. The Fenian Move- ment, 129, 398, 514, 808. The Adams and Russell Cor. respondence, 129, 533. Meeting of Congress, 259. The Committee on Reconstruction, 258, 395, 396, 531, 633, 507. Ratification of Amendment prohibiting Slavery, 259, 397. Reconstruction in Arkansas, 259. The Geor- gia Ordinances, 253. Address of the Convention, 260. The Florida Convention, 260. Message of the Governor of Mississippi, 261. TIse November Elections, 261. Ex- ecution of Wirz, 262. The Presidents Message, 389. Report of the Secretary of War, 391. Report of General Grant, 392. Report of the Secretary of the Treasury, 393. Report of the Secretary of the Navy, 394. Report of the Secretary of the Interior, 394. Report of the Post- master General, 395. Appointment of the Committee of Fifteen, 395. Mr. Sumners Resolutions on Recon- struction, 395, 528. The Public Debt inviolable, 395. Committees, 395. Resolutions on Mexico, 396. Special Message of the President, 396. General Grant on the State of the South, 396. Debate on tile Message, 396. Passage of this Constitutional Amendment abolishing Slavery officially announced, 397. Provisional Govern- ors relieved, 397. Message of Governor of North Car- oliua, 327. Of Governor of Georgia, 396. Of Alabama, 398. Of South Carolina, 598. Colorado, 398, 505. Fenian Quarrel, 398, 534. Mr. Howes Resolution on the Southern States, 528. Mr. Doshhttles Speech, 528. Mr. howes Reply, 529. The Freedmens Bureau Bill, 529, 664. Proposed Amendments to the Constitution, 530, 633. Mr. Raymonds Speech, 531. Amendment Reported by the Committee of Fifteen, 531. Mr. Ste. venss Speech, 531. Passed in the house, 531. The Civil Rights Bill, 531, 806. Speech of Mr. TrumThlh, 532. Reply of Mr. Sauhobury, 532. Negro Suffrage in thus District, 532. Resolutions on Military Force, Polyg- amy, Confidence in this President, passed, 532. The Military Bill, 532, 805. Report of Commissioners on the Revenue System, 532. The Attorney-General on the Trial of Jefferson Davis, 533. Correspondence on Anglo-Confederate Depredations, 533. Correspondence with France respecting Mexico, 533. Constitutional Amendment laid over, 633. Resolutions on Reconstruc- tion, 665. Mr. Hooper on the Financial Condition, 663. Veto of the Freedmens Bureau Bill, 664. Speech of Mr. Wade on the Veto, 665. Speeds of Mr. Deolittle, 665. Speech of Mr. Trumbull, 665. The Bill not passed over the Veto, 666. The Presidents Speech, 666. Mr. Sewards New York Speech, 667. Speech of Alexander H. Stephens, 668. Southern Members not to be admit- ted, SOS. Colorado not admitted, 505. This Military Bill, 505. Seat of Mr. Stockton, SOS. The Civil Rights Bill vetoed, 805. Report of the Committee of Fifteen on the Stale of the Union, SOT. Testimony of General Lee, 507. Testinsony of General Terry, 808. The Fe- nians in Canada, 808. FOREIoN.Thbe Ilaytian Insurrection, 131, 262, 398. Mexico, 131, 262, 398, 534, 669, 807. Maumy and Ma- gruider in Mexico, 131. The War on the Plate, 131, 262, 399, 534. Battle of Yatay, 131. Death of Lord Palm- erston, 131. Time Cattle Plague, 131. The Cholera, 131. The Jamaica Riot, 262, 398. Revolution in Peru, 262. Chilean and Spanish War, 262, 399, 534, 669. The Smir. render of the Shenandoah, 262. Reforms in Cuba, 399. The Fenians in Great Britain, 262, 399, 534, 650, 801. Escape of Stephens, 399. Booth of King Leopold of Belgium, 399. Troubles in China, 399. Capture of Bagdad, Mexico, 534. Spanish vessel captured by the Chileans, 534. General Prims Insurrection in Spain, 534, 670. Alliance between Chili and Peru, 669. Meet- ing of the French Chambers; The Emperors Speech, 669. Reply of the Senate, 670. Opening of Parliament; The Queens Speech, 670. Suspension of Habeas Cor. pus in Ireland, 670. Failure of Prims Spanish Insur- rection, 670. Spanish and Chilean Naval Fight, 807. The British Reform Bill, 807. The French Chambers and the Emperor, 807. Atmotria, Prussia, and the Duchies, 807. NAMES OF MEN 3f. Sc/isle De Vere 51 NAMES OF PLACES 11. Sc/isle De Vere 380 CONTENTS. v NAVY IN NORTH CAROLINA SOUNDS. (Illustrated) John S. C. Abbott 567 NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDY, A Louise (handler Moulton 220 NEW JERSEY, A VOICE FROM Eybert P. Watson 627 NEW-YEARS TO TWELFTH-NIGHT George 6~. Mc Whorter 358 OLIVE WEST Louise Chandler Moulton 653 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. (Illustrated) charles Dickens 86 PACIFIC RAILROAD, BRITISH ROUTE FOR. (Illustrated) John Bonner 139 PALMERSTON, LORD, RECOLLECTIONS OF. (Illustrated) Henry C. Clarke 240 PHILIP herman Melcille 640 PLACES, NAMES OF Ill. Schele De Vere 380 QUEENS GOOD WORK Helen IF. Pierson 772 RED JACKET MEDAL, THE. (Illustrnted) A. II. Guernsey 323 RESTAURANTS, CONCERNING C. IF. Gesner 591 RICHMOND, IN AND AROUND. (Illustrated) Edward C. Bruce 409 ROME, ALL ROADS LEAD TO Katherine C. Wilker 224 ROUND DANCES, CONCERNING A/fred L. Uarroll 614 ROYAL PORTRAITS, THE IF D. Ilowells 43 RUINED HOUSE, TIlE. (Illustrated) (harles Gates 566 SALLYS DISAPPOINTMENT Mary N. Prescott 56 SAND-MARTINS Jean Ingelow 420 SEVEN DAYS BATTLES ON TIlE PENINSULA, TIlE A. II. Guernsey 475 SIX SHOTS, MR. DODS Georyc F. Ilarrinyton 207 SPOT REVISITED, A. (Illustrated) Caroline Seymour 160 SUMMER LONGINGS N. G. Shepherd 492 SWEET CLOVER TV. D. Howells 322 TALPING WAR, LAST MONTHS OF TilE. (Illustrated) Gerald Brown 594 ThANKSGIVING, OUR Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 81 TOM LODOWNE Louise E. Cliollet 756 TOO LATE Elizabeth Stnart Phelps 468 TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS James J. Belcher 228 UNRETURNING BRAVES, TO TIlE Edward N. Pomeroy 342 USES OF LIFE, TIlE tJaroline Seymour 232 VILLAGE IN MASSACHUSETTS, A henry T. Tuckerman 114 VIRGINIA, NATURAL WEALTh OF. (Illustrated) J. B. hamilton 32 VOICES OF THE NIGHT Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 787 WAShINGTON, SECOND LIFE OF Samuel Osgood 460 WHAT HOPE BELL FOUND IN HER STOCKING Nora Perry 493 WINNING HIS SPURS Edmund Spencer 372 WINTER. (Illustrated) N. G. Shepherd 137 WISHES SHOP, THE 245 WITNESSES, MORE. (Illustrated) 161 WITNESstS, THE N. G. Shepherd 326 WORDS, FATED Al. Schele De Vere 202 YOSEMITE VALLEY, CALIFORNIA, THE. (Illustrated) J. L. Wiseley 697 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. Harpers Establishment, Main Front 1 2. The Cliff Street Front 2 3. Mechanism of Floors 3 4. The Court-Yard 4 5. Ross Browne, Homeward bound 6 6. Composing Type 7 7. Composing-Stick and Type .8 8. Copperplate Press 10 9. The Battery Room 13 10. Backing up Plates 14 11. Entrance to Vaults 15 12. Franklins Press 15 13. The Hand Press 10 14. The Adams Press 16 13. The Drying-Room 18 16. hydraulic Press, Diagram 18 17. Folding-Machine 19 18. Making Ready Cuts 19 19. Hydraulic Presses 20 20. Stabbing Sheets 21 21. Main Wareroom 21 22. Portion of Stock Room 22 23. The Taylor Cylinder Press 23 24. The Hoe Rotary Press 24 25. Shears and Trimming Machine 25 26. Embossing Covers 26 27. Finishing a Book 27 28. Marbling 28 29. Burnishing 29 30. Section of Manufactory 30 31. The Beizoro Gold Mine 32 32. The Marks Gold Mine 34 33. Shaft Driving, Wailer Mine 35 34. The Snead Gold Mine 36 35. The Lightfoot Mine 38 36. Columbia, Virginia 42 37. The Moth and the Candle 68 38. Winter 137 39. Snow 138 40. North Thompson River, Rocky Mts. .. 139 41. Watching for Crees 141 42. The Winter Hut 143 43. Fort Edmonton, on Saskatchewan 145 44. Beaver Swamp, and Dam 147 45. The Forest on Fire 149 46. OBrien Crossing the River 150 47. The Assinaboine rescues Bucephalus.. 151 48. Misadventures of the Raft 152 49. The Trail at an End 153 50. Crossing the Athabasca River 154 51. Going up Hill 155 52. Upper Lake on the Athabasca 156 53. The Headless Indian 157 54. The Party across the Mountains 158 55. A Spot Revisited 160 56. The Amusing Witness 161 57. The Medical Student 161 58. The Contradictory Witness 162 59. The Indignant Witness 162 60. The Young Lady trifled with 163 61. The Gentleman who trifled 163 62. Five Minntes Late 187 63. Thanks to Thunder 189 64. Lord Palmerston 240 65. Blackwells Island Lunatic Asylum .. 273 66. The Cook-House 274 67. Receiving PatientsThe Examination 275 68. Lunatics at Dinner 277 69. The Office and Druggery 278 70. Ann Barry 279 71. Norah 280 72. The Doctors Morning Round 280 73. The. Retreat and Yard 281 74. Mrs. Buchanan 283 75. The Colored Preacher 286 76. Paddy discoursing 287 77. Old Tony 288 78. Rafferty 289 79. The Admiral 290 80. Quifiley 290 81. Within Fort Maxey 291 82. Gateway to Fort Maxey 292 ILLUSTR*1IONS. vii 83. Thomas Maxey at Home 293 84. Black Jimmy 294 85. Charles Ellet 295 86. Charles Rivers Ellet 303 87. Map of Vicinity of Vickshurg 304 88. Queen of the West and Vicksburg.. 307 89. Loss of the Queen of the West 308 90. The Indianola at Vicksburg 310 91. The Switzerland 311 92. Indian Summer 312 93. Red Jacket, after Wier 323 94. Red Jacket, hy Darley 324 95. The Red Jacket Medal 325 96. E. S. Parker 326 97. Miss Gwilt and the Gorgons 328 98. Sizes of Diamonds 346 99. The Koh-i-Noor, Uncut 347 100. The Koh-i-Noor, after Cutting 347 101. The Mattam Diamond 347 102. The Orloff Diamond 347 103. The Pitt Diamond 348 104. The Austrian Yellow Brilliant 348 105. The Sancy Diamond 348 106. The Florentine Diamond 348 107. The Shah Diamond 348 108. The Star of the South, Uncut 348 109. The Star of the South, Cut 349 110. The Dresden Green Diamond 349 111. The Hope Diamond 349 112. The Polar Star Diamond 349 113. The Cumherland Diamond.... ... 349 114. The Eugenie Diamond 349 115. The Nassac Diamond 349 116. The Piggott Diamond 350 117. The Dresden Brilliant 350 118. Ruins of Bridge, Richmond 409 119. Berkeley, near Harrison~s Landing.. 411 120. Camp Lee, Richmond 412 121. Conscript Office, Camp Lee 413 122. Ellersoi~s Mill 413 123. Ashland, Virginia 415 124. Mechanicsville 416 125. New Coal Harbor 417 126. The Big Tree 418 127. Dutch Gap Canal 418 128. Fort Powbattan, on the James 419 129. Remains of Arsenal, Richmond 420 130. Ruins at Richmond 420 131. The Fortress of the Mole 421 132. Hole of the Fox 423 133. Prairie Dog Town 424 134. A Rabbit Warren 425 135. Polar Bear at Home 425 136. The Giant Armadillo 427 137. The Aard Vark 428 138. The Woodpecker ... 429 139. The Kingfishers Nest 429 140. The Toucan 430 141. The Petrel 430 142. The Robber Crab 431 143. The Pholas in Wood 432 144. The Pholas in Rock 432 145. The Shipworm 432 146. The Trap-Door Spider and Nests ... 433 147. The humble Bee 434 148. The Lapidary Bee 434 149. Burying Beetle, Scarabtrus, Ant Nest 436 150. Wasp Nest 437 151. Carpenter Bee, Spirifer, Saperda 438 152. Cocoons of Scarahnus and Goliath 439 153. A Client for Mr. Pedgift 447 154. Honey-Eaters and their Nests 545 155. The Tailor Bird 546 156. The Swallow Dic~eum 547 157. Lanceolate Honey-Eater 548 158. African Weaver-Birds 549 159. Sociable Weaver-Bird 551 160. The Little Hermit-Bird 532 161. Humming-Birds 553 162. Baya Sparrow 553 163. Crested CassiqueandBaltimore Oriole 554 164. Fairy Marten and Pied Grallina. ... 555 165. The Oven-Bird 556 166. The Longtailed Titmouse 556 167. The Bower Bird 557 168. Nest of the Chaffinch 558 169. Nest of the Goldfinch 559 170. Golden Orioles and Nest 560 171. Nest of the Reed Warbler 561 172. Water Hen and Nest 561 173. Fiery Topaz and hermit 562 174. Edible Swallow 562 175. The Nightingale 563 176. The Albatros 564 177. The Coot 565 178. The Ruined House 566 179. Louis M. Goldshorough 567 180. The Star of the West off Charleston.. 568 181. Disembarking Horses 571 182. Contrabands in the Swamp 573 183. Shores of Albemarle Sound 574 184. Map of Roanoke Island 575 ~T1U ILLUSERATIONS. 185. Bombardment of Roanoke Island... 577 186. Hand-to-Hand Fight 582 187. The Chinese Prince of Kong 584 188. Quin-San, China, East Gate 594 189. General Ward 595 190. General Burgevine 596 191. Principal Street of Quin-San 598 192. The End of the Elopement 602 193. Galena, August 18, 1805 681 194. Residence of Capt. U. S. Grant 6~2 195. Residence of Lieut.-Gen. Grant .... 683 196. Marsdens Diggings, near Galena... 685 197. Hughletts Smelting Furnace, Galena 687 198. Ore Veins of Elevator Lead Mine... 688 199. Residence of Nelson Stiliman, Galena 689 200. Weighing Pig-Lead 690 201. Residence of Henry Corwith, Galena 691 202. Custom-house and Post-office, Galena 692 203. U. S. Marine Hospital, Galena 694 204. Residence of E. B. Washhurne 695 205. The Sidewalk is built, Galena 696 206. Th~ Yosemite Valley, California 697 207. The Valley from Coulterville Trail 698 208. The Bridal Veil Fall 699 209. El Capitan 700 210. Plan of Yosemite Valley 701 211. Cathedral Rocks 701 212. The Sentinel 702 213. The Three Brothers 703 214. Yosemite Fall 703 215. The North Dome 704 216. The South Dome 705 217. Mirror Lake 706 218. Vernal Fall 707 219. Nevada Fall 707 220. Bellows Butte, and Nevada Fall .... 708 221. On the Zamhesi 709 222. The Grave of Mrs. Livingstone 710 223. Pandanus, or Screw Palm . . 712 224. The Ma-Robert in the Zambesi 713 225. Dance of African Ladeens 715 226. Birds-Eye View of Mosioatunya Falls 718 227. A Gang of Slaves on the March .... 719 228. The Pelele, or Lip-Ring 720 229. African Agriculture 720 230. Mill for Grinding Corn 721 231. Woman Grinding Corn 721 232. An African Group 723 233. Father and Son 739 234. View of Residence 765 235. Plan of Cellar 766 236. Plan of First Floor 767 237. Cooking Range 767 238. Plan of Second Floor 768 239. Transverse Section of House 770 240. Warming and Ventilation 771

A. H. Guernsey Guernsey, A. H. Making the Magazine 1-31

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY_MAGAZINE, No CLXXXYIJ.DEC EMBER,_lSG5,XToL. XXXII. TUE ANKLIN SQUA FUONT. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. j~~1~0one hundred and eighty-six consecu- have taken place in the corps of Editors. Now monthsfifteen and a half years; al- and then a member has retired and another most half a human generation~w0 have issued has been introduced; but no one has died. Of the successive Nombers of HArtp~xs MAGA- the Editors who now conduct the vario s de- ZINE. By we are designated the Proprie- partments no one has occupied his present po- tors and Publishers who planned the enter- sition less than eight years. The Contribu~. prise, and nnder whose constant supervision it tors, exclusive of the tho sands who have fur- has been conducted; the Editors who have car- nished the anecdotes and reminiscences embod- ned these plans into execution; the Contribu- ied in the Editors Drawer, number about tors who have furaiihed the materials for the three hundred. Here many changes have oc- work; and the various Artists and Artisans curred. Some old names have disappeared, who have put these into sh e. There have many new ones hay been introduced. But been singularly few changes in the persons com- one who looks at the Table of Contents pre- posing these departments. The Harper & fixed to each half-yearly volume will find not Brothers of Number I. are the same as those a few of the same names recurring from year of this Number CLXXXVII. Some changes to year. The number who have died is re- Entered according to Act of Congress, iu the year 1865, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the Dis- trict Court for the Southern District of New York. VOL. XXXIJ.N0. 187.A 9 HAIIPEPS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. markably fen~* Of the printers and engrav- ers, many have worked on every Number since the first. The Magazine was successful from the outset. Of the first Number 7500 were at first printed. Within six months the number had reached 50,000. The average circulation, taking all the Numbers from the first, has been somewhat more than 110,000in all, fully tweuty and a quarter millions of copies. They would weigh more than 5000 tons, of 2000 pounds. They would measure nearly 2000 cords. They would build a solid wall ten feet high, two feet thick, arid almost two and a half miles long. They would make a solid pyramid one hundred feet square at the base, and more than seventy-five feet high. The Numbers, laid side by side, would cover 208 acres, or make a pavement two and a half feet wide, and nearly sixty miles long. The separate sheets would cover a patio two and a half feet broad, and 4400 miles long. They would carpet almost 16,000 acres, and as each sheet is printed on both sides, they con- tain more than 31,000 acres of printing.* It is proposed in this article to describe the entire series of operations through which each of these Numbers has passed until it comes in its perfect shape before the reader. In showing How the Magazine is Made, we also describe in fact the manner of making a book, the pro- cesses throughout being essentially the same. In the present case all these operations arc performed in one establishment and under a single roof, so that they can be described in their natural order. The Printing and Publishing Establishment of Harper & Brothers occupies a somewhat irregular plot of ground extending through from Franklin Square in Pearl Street to Cliii Street, with a front on each of about 120 feet. and a depth from street to street of about 170, covering in all ten city lots, equal to abouthaif * These statements are given, approximately but very nearly, in round numbers. Any cue who chooses to verify will find the necessary elements in tic following data: Each Number weighs 8 ounces, and has superficial area of 65 square inches. A sheet coitains 520 eqosro inches; each Number, including covers, har 9J sheets. To fill the space of a cubic foot reqoires 80 Nombers, TOE CLIFF STF.EOi FROnT, * Among the deceased contributors to the Magazine, notable for the number or the value of their contributix no, are W. M. Thackeray, G. P. R. James, Calvin E. Philes, John n. liagany, Stephen A. Douglas, Fitz James Otiri- en, William E. Sewall, and Alice II. haven. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 3 an acre. Upon this are erected two buildings, one fronting on each street, with a court-yard between, which, besides other purposes, sen-es to give light and air to the rear of each build- ing. The Cliff Street building is the mann- factory; the Franklin Square building contains ~the offices and warerooms. These buildings were erected in 1854, on the site occupied by the structures consumed by the fire which, on the 10th of December, 1853, destroyed the works which had gradually grown up during thirty years, sweeping away in three hours property worth a million of dollars. In recon- structing the establishment usefulness was the first consideration. It should be fire-proog for it was to contain property to a large amount. It must be strong, for every part was to be filled with massive machinery and heavy stock. It must be well lighted and ventilated, for men and women were to perform work in every part. All the space mu~ be available, for a great deal of work was to be done within it It must, moreover, be handsome, for the Pro- prietors wi~med that the external form should indicate the intrinsic value. These conditions could be attained only by making iron enter more largely into every part of the construc- tion than had ever before been attempted. The main front on Franklin Square is built whol- ly of iron. It consists of five stories, above- ground, each having 21 handsome columns, the interspaces wholly of iron. The side and rear walls aie of stone and iron. To gain a firm foandation for this heavy structure it was necessary to go down nearly thirty feet below the surface of the street. This space was util- ized by throwing it into two subterranean stor- ies a cellar and sub-cellar. This front is elaborately ornamented, and presents one of the finest fa9ades in the city. The Cliff Street building is of brick, rising six stories above-ground, with a basement be- low. The monotony of a blank wall of such large dimensions is broken by fiat pilasters reaching from top to bottom, by arching the upper windows, and by a heavy cornice. Fol- lowing the line of the streets, each front pre- sents a slight curve; that on Franklin Square convex, the other concave. The essential features of both buildings are to be found in the interior construction; espe- cially in the adaptation of iron to the support of the floors of the different stories. Hitherto no fire-proof building - had .been built which contained more than a single story wholly available for any prac tical use. The floor of this main story was up- held by a series of arches and columns, filling al- most all the space, and darkening what was not filled. There was no known means of making the flooring of the main story strong enough to support stories above, without sacrificing a great portion of the space. For examples of fire-proof buildings before the iron-age, one needs but to look at the building at the corner of Wall and Nassau streets, once used for the Custom-house, and now used as the Sub-Treasury, and the Old Merchants Exchange, now the Custom- house, on Wall Street. The architect of the former building gave up a third of the space to utterly useless porticoes, and in the latter case, besides giving up much space to the great por- tico, constructed the walls and windows in such a manner that nearly half of the rooms must be artificially lighted during a great part of the day. Each of these buildings covers about the same ground as does the Harper Establish- ment; each has a far more flivorable site, hav- ing three sides instead of two opening upon the street; each of them cost from eight to twelve times as much in building; neither of them is more absolutely fire-proof; neither is practically strongersince the absolute strength of any structure is only that of its weakest point; and both together do not contain half the nsable room of the Harper Establishment; and, moreover, neither of these costly public buildings presents a finer architectural appear- ance than the Franklin Square front of this purely private structure. The whole interior structure of both build- ings is supported upon a series of iron columns, rising from story to story. From column to column in each story extends a girder com- posed of a cast iron arch, and a wrougkt iron tension-rod. This rod, about the size of a man s arm, is dovetailed at each end into the head of a column; the arch, of which it forms a part, can only be broken down by a weight at the top sufficient to pull this rod asunder. The iron which composes this arch is cast into shapes which not only economize material by putting it just where wanted, but present an ornamental appearance. Across the top of these arches are placed a series of beams of rolled iron to support the floors. These beams, shaped much like the .1. rail of a railroad, lie four feet apart. The floors consist of a series of low brick arches turned from beam to beam. These are laid dry, grouted, and then filled up level with ce- ment on the upper side, MEChANISM OF FLOORS. HARPERS N W MONTHLY MAGAZINE. making a solid floor of brick and cement. Ovcr this, for comfort, is laid a covering of rood, which is really only a carpet. This mode of strncture is shown in each of the interior views which nppear in this paper. The cnt on page 3 shows in detail the parts of a single arch. Every thing, it will be seen, rests not upon the wells, but npon the pillars. These are so framed together by girders and beams as to be self-supporting. It is believed that if all the exterior walls were taken away the interior structure, with all its contents, would be un- harmed. The structure is able to snstain ten times the weight likely to be placed within it. Nothing short of an earthquake or a bombard- ment, it is believed, for the generations dnring which the solid iron, stone, and brick will retain their strength, can impair the secarity of these difices. United States engineers surveyed the buildings when finished, and said but one mis- Pike was madetheir being twice the strength required. Many additional precautions have been taken against the old arch-enemyFire. Between the two buildings is a spacious court-yard. In this, separate from either building, are the fur- naces and boilers, covered over by a low roof of iron and glass. Excepting the oal con- sumed, there is nothing combustible which is not shut off by solid walls of brick and stone. With the exception of the gas employed, and a single furnace, not larger than an ordinar cooking-range, in the electrotypers room, there is no other fire in the whole establishment. Every apartment is warmed by steam pipes fed from these boilers. These pipes are coiled up in spaces and corners where they will be on~ of the way. The process is economic~ 1 as well as safe. It takes less coal to work the engines which move the complicated machinery of the establishment, and to warm the whole, thea would be required merely to heat it by any or- dinarv system of stoves, where at best a large part of the heat goes uselessly up chimney. There is no connection within the buildinbs t)e THE COUET-YASSD. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 5 tween the different stories. The oniy way of access to the upper stories is by a circular iron staircase contained in a round tower in the centre of the conrt-yard. Iron bridges reach from this tower to the different floors. Each floor is in effect an isolated fire-proof apartment, containing nothing combustible except the fur- niture and stock. Little of the stock is haz- ardous. Paper, indeed, when lying loose is easily burned; but when packed closely to- gether in books or bundles, it will not burn un- less surrounded by more combustible matter. When the rubbish was removed, weeks after the great fire, piles of books and paper were found among the still smouldering ruins uncon- sumed and injured only by water and smoke. Moreover, should a fire take place any where, an apparatus is provided by which the room can be at once flooded with steam from the boilers. It is believed that in no case could a fire spread from one room to another. The cost of insurance is therefore reduced to a mini- mum, by the rates being the very lowes~. and because it is thought necessary to insure for only a small proportion of the entire value of the property.* The court-yard is entered by an archway through the Cliff Street building. It serves as a place for the reception and delivery of all heavy goods, leaving the streets themselves wholly unobstructed by drays, boxes, and bun- dles. All packages are raised and lowered through a hoistway containing a movable plat- form carried up and down by the steam-engine. This Steam Paddy is a laborious workman. There is scarcely a moment in which he is not traveling up and down with a load varying from a few pounds to a ton and a half; but the heavi- est of these loads is not eq~ial to half his strength. He is a careful fellow too. He has made fully 30,000 trips without ever meeting with an ac- cident injuring life or limb. It is hardly possi- ble for him to do so, for should the pulley or wire cable give way, the platform would be in- stantly arrested by other parts of the machinery. So much for the edifice in which the Maga- zine is made. The apparatus used and the mode of operations will appear as we proceed. Strictly speaking, the work of making the Magazine begins with the authors who write and the artists who sketch. Papers have been written and drawings made for the Magazine Since the foregoing was written Charles H. Haswell, Esq., the eminent Consulting Engineer, and Surveyor of Steamers for Underwriters, was desired to examine and re- port upon these buildings; his riport is as follows: I have visited and examined the buildings comprising your establishment upon Franklin Square and Cliff Street, and having given the matter a full consideration, I sub- mit as follows: 1. The risk of a fire occurring within any of the buildings, under existing arrangements, is so very remote as to be quite inconsiderable.2. The effect of a fire occurring external to any of your buildings would not necessarily endanger the security of them or any part of themB. In the event of a fire occurring within any part of your establishment, or of being communicated to it from without, I can not recognize the probability of its extend- ing beyond the immediate location of its origin or of its communication. in every State of the Union, in the British Provinces, in the West Indies, in almost every country of Central and Southern America; in nearly every part of Europe; in Siberia, China, Japan, and India; in Africa, Arabia, and the Holy Land. Our indefatigable and ubiquitous correspondent Ross Browne, alone, has written and sketched for us in Juan Fernandez and Jerusalem, in Damascus and Salt Lake City, in Idaho and Iceland, in Nevada and Norway, in Russia and Arizona, in Germany, Spain, Italy, Algiers, Poland, and California, and in various places intermediate. We should at no time be surprised to see him coming back, loaded with drawings and MS. from the North Pole, or from China, Persia, Tartary, or any other part of the globe. But within the establishment the work com- mences in the Editors Room. It is the busi- ness of the editors to provide or furnish matter, literary and artistic. They write certain ar- ticles, each in the main in his own departij~ent. If they want a paper on any special subject they know just where to apply for it. About half of the contents of the Magazine are made up in this way. The remainder is selected from the mass of matter sent in by various cor- respondents, who are or si~ish to be contributors. Fifteen papers a day, long and short, is per- haps a fair average of the number which come in this way. The editors rend, consider, and compare these, selecting as many as they can use of those which they judge to be the best. A hundred circumstances come in to influence their decision There must be variety in each Nur4er, so that readers of every class may each find something to his taste. There may be in their files a number of paPers of the same general character and subject. Probablyonly one of these can be used. A paper may be well written while the subject is not of interest; the subject may be good but the execution faulty. Length has much to do in the case. There are just so ~iany pages to be filled and no more. Then there is an almost infinite number of questions to be answered, either personally or by letter. One wants to know the general terms with contributors. An- other wishes to reply to some article to which he takes exception. More than fifty replies were sent in or proposed to Mr. Douglass pa- per on Popular Sovereignty. Another has written or is writing a novel, which he wishes run through the Magazine and afterward be issued in book form. Others who propose traveling wish to write descriptive papers upon every part of the globe. And so on, ad inft- nitussl. All these matters must be attended to by the members of the editorial corps, who, one by one, sift out the useless manuscripts and the unavailable propositions. Those which may possibly be of use are handed to the Managing Editor, who makes the final choice. A few hints may be of use to correspondents. Every manuscript should be clearly and legibly written. In propernames, technical words, and 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. foreign phrases every letter should be carefully expressed; for the printer must not only be able to get at the general sense, but must read every separate word. It should be properly punctu- ated; for the sense often depends upon punctu- ation. If a person can not write legibly and punctuate correctly, he should learn before at- teu~pting to write for the press. If the Editor were ever so willing to read a half-illegible manuscript he could not judge fairly of it. If his whole faculties are tasked to read the words he has none left to appreciate brilliancy of thought or delicacy of expression. Every man- uscript should have at the head the name and address of the writer, so that the Editor may be able to communicate with him if necessary. No one should expect a criticism upon his ar tide; the Editor can only undertake to say. that it is either accepted or declined, without giving the reasons. If the article is short the writer should retain a copy; it is easier for him to do this than for the Editor to keep a regis~ ter. If the return of the MS. by mail is de- sired, it should always be accompanied by the requisite number of postage stamps. To re- turn manuscripts at his own cost would involve an expenditure by the Editor of many hundreds of dollars a year. There is very little proba- bility that a serial story, a translation, or a series of papers upon any topic will be avail- able. The articles having been selected, and the order in which they are to appear fixed, they are sent to the Composing Room? where Ii l~ 71 - ~2~ Q ROSS BROWNE ON THE WAY HOME. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. they are set up in type. This room is the upper one in the manutheturing building, and thus has the advantage of being lighted from the roof ns well ns from the sides. Here the copy is given to a compositor, or rather to a nnmher of compositors, who proceed to put it into type. rise compositors case consists of a shal- low box two and a half feet long, and half as broad, divided into compartments for the dif- ferent characters used. Two of these are re- quired for the sorts in common use. These are J)laced in a sloping position on a stand, the ~per case being more inclined thau the low& . The lower case, a.s arranged fo~ an ordinary work in English, has 54 boxes of different sizes; these contain the various small letters (hence styled lower case letters), the marks of punc- tuation, the figures, and spaces a d quadrats of difibrent sizes. The upper case has 98 boxes of uniform size. These contain the capitals, ~enall cal)itals, and various characters which are in freqoent use, such as parentheses, stars, and other signs of reference, dashes, dollar and pound marks, and so on, hesides leaving a few boxes for characters which may he frequently wanted for special work. A pair of cases laid tar usual work contains about 140 sorts. In the upper case the letters are arranged in alphabetical order in the lower rows, the capi- tals on the left, the small-caps on the right. In the lower case the letters are not arranged in alphabetical order, hut in such a way s to liring those most frequently used directly in front of the compositor. The relative propor- tions in which the letters occur vary hi differ- ent languages. In English, out of every 532 letters there will he ahout 1 z. a k, j, q, 7 b, v. 10 g, p, w, y. 12 r, f, a, in. 20 d, L a) a, 40 a, i, n, 0~ a. 45 t. 00 e. To get a j or z the hand of the coml)ositor must i~ass over a space of nearl three feet, while to get a t or e it traverses only three or tour inches. If the letters were arranged in al phahetical order the work of composition would be at least doubled. Besides these usual sorts there are many others not unfrequently employed; such as ac- cented vowels, superior figures (1, 2, ~ etc.), superior letters (~, b, C, etc.), fractions, and maux- others, about a hundred in all. These are usu- ally kept in a separate case. The compositor must have learned the place of each of these two or three hundred sorts so thoroughly that his hand will go to each without any conscious effort of the niind, jtsst as the fingers of the exl)crienced piano-player go to the proper keys without his stopping to think, consciously, that he must strike such a key with such a finger. Moreover, almost every science has symbols of its own. Algebra lies one set, Chemistry another. For a dictionary which attempts to represent the minnte shades of pronunciation a great number are required. Thus in Webster or Worcester, what with letters with dots above, and clots below, lines above, below, and across, there are probably a hundred additional char- acters, for each of which there must he a box in a case laid for that purpose. Some foreign languages have a very complicated alphabet. The Greek, what with accents and breath ings, the number of regular sorts, whtch occur in every work, is about two hvusdred.* For- merly there were still others; the early printers endeavoring to imitate the abbreviations and combinations of the cahigraphers. We have seen a folio printed three centuries ago in which there were 750 of these sorts. Most compositors are sufficiently acquainted with the Greek case to set up any occasional word which they encounter. Greek hooks, grammars, arid dictionaries are usually set up by men who have made it a special business. Still more complex are the Oriental alphabets. The He- brew, with the Masoretic points, requires about 300 sorts, many differing only by a point, stroke, or angle. The Arabic has quite as many. The present writer once worked at case for months upon Robinsons hebrew Lexicon, in which eight or ten Oriental languages ap~iear. The whole number of sorts for this amonnted to fully 3000, distributed through at least forty cases. The tools of the compositor consist simply of the composing stick with its rule, and a sharppointed bodkiu for snaking corrections. The illustration on page 8 represents a com- posing-stickusually abbreviated into stick about one half the real length and width. One of the ends is movahie, being adjusted by a slide and screw, so that the same stick cams he used for assy work of usual size. TIme emls must he exactly true, otherwise the lines would he of unequal length. Ilis copy lies before isins, usually upon the smallcal) side of thse sipper case. 1-Je reads a few words, as siuassv as lie c~ a readily remember, and then proceeds Fur exuiepSe, the iuwer-case Alplse will have these forusso,a,O,~, C, C, ,J,C, 0, 0, 0,5,0, ~,o, usucl 00 witls oilier vowels. COMPOSITiON. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to pick up the letters composing them, one by one, and putting it into the stick, keeping it in its place 1w a slight pressure of the thumb, until the line is nearly full. It is not allowed to divide a syllable, bowever long, or to cut off a syllable consisting of a letter: thus the words through and among can not be divided. Now it rarely happens that the last letter of a syllable will exactly fill out the line. It must be made to do so. if a very little more room is wanted, the compositor makes it by taking out the spaces between the words, and putting in thinner ones; or he reverses the process and puts additional space between the words. This process is called justify- ing. While doing this he usually runs his eye along the line, and corrects any error which he perceives that he has made. The face of the typ~ as will be seen by the line in the stick, occupies a position the reverse of the letters on the printed page; but the composi- tor soon learns to read them as readily as he would a printed page. Some compositors read over the whole stickful before they empty it, as it is often easier to correct an error then than afterward. He then takes out the rule from behind the line, puts it on the top, and re- commences the operation. The rule is merely a thin piece of metal of the length of the line. Its object is t~vofold: it furnishes a smooth surface upon which the type may slide to their places, and keeps the lines already set up from falling out. A stick will hold about 17 lines of the type of the Magazine; and a line con- tains about 50 letters and spaces. A good compositor will complete about three lines in five minutes, so that, deducting the time spent in justifying, he picks up nearly one letter a second, hour in and hour out. In addition, he has learned his copy by heart, though in- deed he forgets the words as soon as he has set them up. He does not look at the face of the letter; he assumes that each will be in its proper box. Near the lower end of each type, and on the side below the bottom of the letter, are several deep nicks. If the type is placed i& the stick with the nicks on the outer side of the line it must be in the right position. When the stick is full it is emptied. This is a very dextrous operation. The compositor places the rule be- fore the top line; the fore- finger of each hand presses against this; the second fin- ger of each hand is pressed A r~ez. against the ends of the lines; the thumbs bear upon the last line; then by a quick motion of the other fingers the stick is pushed down, while by a simultaneous move- ment of the whole hand the type are lifted out in a body and placed in a galley, which is merely a piece of wood, or more usually metal, with a raised rim on two or more sides, against which the type rest secure. A stickful often consists of 1000 or more separate pieces, yet the compositor handles it apparently almost as carelessly as though i~ were a solid mass. He indeed handles much larger quantities. He lifts and carries from place to place a page of the size of this, which, if in very small type, may contain 15,000 pieces, tied around with a string, as though it were one piece. This manual dexterity is only acquired by practice. Every compositor has sorrowful reminiscences of the heaps of pi which resulted from his first a~tempts to empty his stick, or to lift a page; the labor of a day destroyed in an in- stant, with the further addition of half as much time to be spent, without pay, in distributing th~ pifor every person must clear up his own ruins. A case will contain sufficient letter to set up two or three pages of this Magazine. Whcn the case is empty it must be filled again. The compositor takes up, face toward him, a quan- tity of matter which has been printedby preference as much as will reach from the ball of the hand to the tip of the thumb. This column rests upon the serviceable little rule, which is supported by the hollow of the left hand. This2is held inclined in such a way that it is supported in one direction by the outspread fingers, in the other by the upright thumb. With the right hand he takes off as many letters as he can conveniently hold between the balls of the thumb and forefinger; holds them be- fore his eye for an instant while he reads them. The right hand, with these type in it, hovers over the lower case with a motion almost like that of a birdmaking a dart now and then at the upper casedropping the letters in a con- tinual shower, each into its own box. The thumb and finger are all the while, by an almost imperceptible motion, separating the type near- est their tips from the others. These type are of almost every conceivable thickness, from the hair space, not thicker than a sheet of paper, to the letter in, eight times as thick. This whole series of operations, called distribut- ing, performed upon the wing, must be exe- cuted with great precision, for three-quarters of the boxes into which the type fall are only two inches square. A good compositor, work- C0MPO5LNO-5TICK. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 9 ing at ordinary speed, will distribute about 12,000 sorts in an hourthat ~s, between three and four a second, without making 20 errors in all. It behooves a compositor to distribute cleanly, for every error made in distribu- tion inevitably shows itself in the subsequent composition. The accompanying diagram represents the track of the hand in distributing the word jealously : which would probably be taken up at once. The movement commences at the point marked by a i~, where the word is tak- en up, and follows, in the direction indicated by the arrows, the line pursued by the distrib- uting hand, until it returns to the point of starting, ready to take up another portion. It will be seen that the hand traverses almost the whole case several times. The boxes them- selves are not shown, but their several relative positions are indicated by the letters. The diagram is drawn upon a scale of 1 to 15; the line upon it measures ii inches; multiplying this by 15 will give the distance (165 inches) traversed by the hand in distributing this word. This is rather an extreme case, the letters form- ing the word lying more widely apart than usu- al. But this relative distance to be traversed is often exceeded. Thus to distribute the three characters Ax. the hand must go from the bot- tom of the lower case to the A-box in the up- per case, 24 inches; then across to the N-box, 28 inches; then to the period-box, 21 inches; then back to the starting-point, 12 inches: in all, 85 inches. It may be doubted whether any other operation involves as much manual dex- terity as that of distributing type. The palm would lie between this and the manual part of piano-playing. Machines have been invented for setting and distrihuting type. By simply touching keys, as in playing upon an organ, the type, liberat- ed one by one from receptacles, which may be considered the pipes of the organ, are made to glide in a continuous stream, forming them- selves into words and sentences more rapidly than a man can write, much less set them up; but the lines must be justified by hand. Still more marvelous is the distributing ma- chine, which takes the dead matter and dis- tributes it, sort by sort, in its proper place, without any human intervention, more rapidly, and quite as correctly, than can be done by the swiftest compositor. These machines are mar- vels of mechanical ingenuity; but it is still doubtful, taking into account conditions which only a printer can appreciate, whether they can do their work more economically than can be done by the compositor. When the compositor has filled a galley, which usually contains about a page of this Magazine, an impression, called a proof, is taken from the type.* Then the work of the Proof-Reader (usually called the Reader) be- gins. The proof is first read by copy. An assistant reads the manuscript aloud. The Reader, with his eye fixed on the proof, is alert to detect any discrepancy between the words which he hears and those which he sees. If any word is put in, left out, or altered, he writes the correction on the margin, and at the same time corrects any merely typographical errors which he notices. If the copy has been good, and the compositor careful, there will be few errors, sometimes not half a dozen in the page. Usually there are many more. Sometimes the whole margin of the proof-slip, broader than the column of type, is filled with corrections. To make the corrections in such a proof may take as much time as to set it up originally. The compositor must do this for nothing; for he is paid by the pieceso much for a certain amount of corrected matter. When this proof has been corrected another is taken, and the Reader examines it to see if the corrections already made have been executed, and then reads it over, very slowly and carefully, to de- tect any errors that may have escaped him. This second proof is corrected by the compos- itor, and his work is supposed to be done. If the first proof is very clean, it is often read the second time on the same slip. If a proof is sent to the author and he detects any further deviations from his copy, the compositor must still correct them without pay. If the author makes any alterations from copy, the compos- itor is paid for the time occupied in correcting them; or, more usually, they are made by a man paid by the proprietor for that purpose. The cardinal principle running through the whole is that the compositor must follow copy ; only he is.supposed to be able to spell correctly, and if the author has misspelled a word the compositor must correct it. When we c5nsider the number of possible errors that may occur in any word, and the manifold modes in which they may be produced, it is wonderful that books should be as correctly printed as they are. Thus, in this single word [scala~s], while there is not a single misspelling, there is something wrong about each letter.t * Quite as often the proof is not taken until the matter has been made up into pages; but the subsequent pro- cesses are the same in both cases. t The first a is turned; the larger curve should be at the bottom instead of the top. The c is a small capital instead of a lawer case; the difference is that the upper point should he a dot instead of a triangle. The a is wrong font; it is one size too large. The 1 is Italic instead of Roman. The e is battered, and does not show perfectly. The last s is wrong font, being one size too small. 4 [0 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Any one of these errols would be likely to be undetected by any one except a Proof-Reader; yet any one of them would impair the typo- graphical accuracy of the page. To denote each of these, and a score of other kinds of error, printers have separate symbols. The author, in correcting proofs, need not under- :tand the whole system. It is sufficient for him to erase from the text any thing which is wrong, and write the correction legibly in the usargin. But the work of a Proof-Reader is by no means confined to the foregoing. He should he able to detect errors which the writer, as ~vell as the compositor, may have made, and to suggest them and their correction. He must therefore have a general knowledge of litera- ture and the sciences, and should be to some extent acquainted with the principal foreign languages. Of course he must have a thor- ough knowledge of the art and mystery of ty- pography. It is very rare that one becomes a thorough Proof-Reader without having had a previous traiuin~ as a compositor. Before leaving the compositors case it is proper to state that he usually works by the piece, or, technic~ ily, by the thousand. The types for the various letters vary in size. The letter m, the thickest, is nearly square. This is taken as the standard. A thousand is not that number of letters, but the space occupied by a thousand of the letter m. To ascertain the quantity of work in a page the number of ins which a line will hold is multiplied by the mumuber of lines. Three letters avernac an m. A pa~e of this Magazine contains 3000 ms say 9000 characters. A good compositor, with thirly written copy, will complete about 6000 ms a day. That is, he will distribute and compose about 18,000 letters, besides leaving time to correct his proofs. This is of ordinary solid works in prose. If it is leaded, or in any other way fat, he xviii do more. Po- etry is always fat, because a part of the line is filled out with quads, which measure from one to three ms each. The illustrations have been in the mean while in course of preparation; usually for weeks, often for months. There are three general modes of producing illustrations for books: Lithography, Engraving on Gopper, and Engraving on Wood. Lithography is based on the principle that oil and water will not adhere: you can not ~rense water or wet grease. A drawing is nude with a kind of oily ink or pencil upon a certain species of stone. To print from this drawing the stone is rubbed over with a moist- ened sponge. The water will adhere to the stone, but not to the lines of the drawing. Then a roller covered with oily ink is passed wer the whole. The ink adheres to the oily lines, and not to the wet stone. A sheet of paper is laid on the stone, which is passed un- der a heavy roller. The ink on the lines of the drawing is taken off by the paper, and a fac-simile of the draxving is produced. This process of wetting, inking, and rolling is re- peated for every impression. The whole pro- cess is slow, 300 copies being a fair days work. In Copper-plate Engraving the lines and dots which make the picture are cut, one by one, into a plate of metal. To print fl-em this the whole plate is covered with ink, which also fills the lines and dots. TIme ink is wiped off from the surface of the plate, leaving only that which fills the engraved lines. Paper is then laid on the plate, which is passed under a roller, which forces the surface of the sheet into the lines, taking up the ink. This series of processes is repeated for each copy. The xvhole takes about the same time as lithographic printing. En- graving upon steel differs from en~raving on copper only in the material used. The only advantage is that a steel plate, being harder, will give a greater number of impressions. This slow rate of multiplying copies renders both of these methods unavailable where a large number are required within a short time, as in this Magazine. Of this present sheet 125,00(1 copies will probably be printed. To print a single page of the emits, at tIme rate of 300 a day, would require a m~ a and a l)~C55 417 days that is, the working time of sixteen months. But there will he scattered through this Num- ber cuts which would fill at least sixteen pages. To print these separately would take a single press 256 montlmstwenty-one years and four muouths. This time might be reduced to 64 months by engraving four pages on a single plate (a larger sheet than this can not well lie mise(l), and primiting them at omie imnpressiorm. Four presses, each printing four inipressions, could be used for a single Numuber, and would accomplish the xvork in sixteen months. But as in this time sixteen Numbers must be print- ed, it would require 64 presses working all time time to print merely the cuts for the Magazine. The printing of the cuts wommid need to be be- gun at least sixteen months before their issue in the Magazine: that is, it would have beemi necessary to have begun to print in Ammgust. 1 864, all the cuts which appea.r in this Nsmm- her; amid the cuts which we should hegimi to CoPPEC-PLATa cavEs. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 11 print on the 1st of December, 1865, could not appear until the Number for April, 1867.* Moreover, the pictures could not appear on the same page with the text, the manner of print- ing from these plates and from type being en- tirely different. These modes are ont of the question for Harpers Magazine. For them is substituted Engraving upon Wood, which is, in all essen- tial respects, just the reverse of Engraving upon Copper. A block of solid wood is cut off across the grain, just the height of a type (a little less than an inch). The upper surface of this is pol- ished, and upon this the artist, with a fine lead pencil, makes a drawing precisely as though he were making it upon paper, giving every line just as he wishes it to appear. This block is given to the engraver, who cuts away every part of the wood not covered by the artists lines, which are thus left standing in relief. The only wood with sufficient toughness and closeness of grain for fine engravings is box- wood. Of this it is difficult to procure pieces more than five inches square; for larger pic- tures the block is composed of several pieces accurately fitted together, and fastened by bolts and screws. A double-page picture in Harpers Weeldy will be composed of forty separate pieces. In a copper-plate the lines which form the pic- ture are cut into the plate; in a wood-cut ev- ery thing else is cut away, and these are left standing in relief. To gain an idea of the rel- ati~e difficulties of the two processes, let any one take a piece of white paper and a fine black pencil, and try to make an exact copy, line for line, of one of our illustrations. If he succeeds perfectly he will have accomplished what the copper-plate engraver would have done. Then let him take a black slate, and with a fine white pencil attempt a perfect fac-simile of the same engraving. If he succeeds, he will have ac- complished just what the wood-engraver has done. It must not be supposed, however, that the skill of the wood-engraver is limited to the mere mechanical task of following the exact lines traced by the artist. In many parts of a drawing the artist does not actually draw all the lines. Thus he paints in a sky in India- ink, giving the general form of the clouds, and the gradations of tone and color. The engrav- er translates this into lines of different forms and sizes, the difference in tone being given by making the lines finer or coarser, or nearer or farther apart~. The artistic effect of a fine engraving depends greatly upon the thickness of the lipes. As a rule, to which there are * Time may be saved by having a large number of plates for each picture, or sheet of pictures. There are methods of duplicating and reduplicating to any extent a plate without re-engraving it. The copies are somewhat im- perfect, but for many kinds of work, e. g., fashion-plates, where poor engraving is partly concealed by coloring, they answer indifferently well. Thus if a periodical re- quires 50,000 of a copper-plate fashion-picture in a month, they can he printed in that time by having seven or e~ht plates, each worked upon a separate press at the rate of 300 a day for each. many exceptions, they are strongest in the fore-ground, and weaker in the distance. A good wood-engraver must be not merely a workman but an artist, and as such commands a corresponding salary. The tools used by the engraver are few. The principal is the gray- er, a triangular blade of steel, about four inches long, and as large as a small file, set into a short wooden handle, the point being ground into a lozenge-shape; of these he will use two or three, slightly varying in size and form for different kinds of work. Two or three small chisels for removing larger portions of wood, an oil-stone for sharpening his tools, and a magnifying glass, complete the list. Some- times a single engraver executes an entire block; quite as often, in large establishments, several are engaged, each doing the part for which he has a special taste or aptitude. One, for instance, will engrave the faces and figures, another the strong fore-ground, and another the delicate back-ground. The Magazine has contained something more than 10,000 engravings, the cost of which will average about $30 each, making $300,000 paid out directly to artists and engravers. A wood-cut is essentially a type, of a larger size, and is treated as such in all subsequent operations. The cut is given to the composi- tor, who proceeds to make it up in the page where it belongs, fitting the type above, be- low, or at the side, as the Case requires. A cut, if of large size, is fat, for the composi- tor gets as much for fitting it into the page as he would for setting up the same space in type. If there is but a single line of type it still counts as a page. The page being made up, a final proof is taken and read, to make sure that all previous errors have been corrected and no new ones made. With this the compositors work is finished. The operation of type-making is a very deli- cate one; but it does not come within the prov- ince of this paper to describe it in detaiL It is sufficient here to say that a type consists of a piece of metal seven-eighths of an inch long, with the face of the letter upon one end. These are cast separately in a mould. Each must be mathematically accurate in every way. If they varied a hairs-breadth in height the lower ones would not show in printing. If they va- ried in the slightest possible degree in any other way, when a great number of them were made up into a page they could not be held together. A single page of this Magazine contains 9000 of these separate pieces; a page of the smallest type in Harpers Weekly contains 60,000; a page of a large daily newspaperlike the Evening Post may contain quite 150,000 of all sorts and sizes. All these pieces are kept in place simply by being wedged into a strong iron frame, without any bottom. The slightest va- riation from a true form in each of these, multiplied by so many, would make the whole into an irregular mass, which would fall in pieces at a touch. Then the face must oc 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cupy its exact place on the body, or the line will appear irregular when printed. Thus, if one will look at the, first sheet of this Magazine for the last month, containing the article on the Ascent of Popocatepeti, he will see that the lines look a little crooked. Upon closer ex- amination he will see that this is caused by the letter e, which occurs so frequently, standing a little below the other letters. A new font of type had been procured at that time. In ar- ranging the moulds the founder had not been quite accurate. The error is hardly a hairs- breadth, and escaped observation until these pages were finallymade up, when the keen eye of the proof-reader detected it. It was too late to remedy it in that sheet; but all of the es in the font were taken out and returned to the founder, who replaced them by others correctly adjusted; so that this sheet, printed from the same font of type, shows no such fault. If the work were to be printed .directly from the type, the pages would be imposed into a sheet, locked up, and sent to press. Most newspapers and pamphlets are still printed from the type; but the Magazine and most books are printed from stereotype or electro~type casts. The process of stereotyping consists in taking a mould in plaster of Paris from a page of type, and then taking a cast in type-metal from that mould. The advantages of this method are numerous; the principal being that it obviates the necessity of htying out a large amount of dead capital for a long time. Thus, in Lid- dell and Scotts Greek Lexicon there was an interval of five years between the composi- tion of the first sheet and the last, during all of which time the work was going on. If the work was to be printed from the type, the first sheet must have been printed as soon as it was ready, and so on to the end. But none of the work would be put into market until after the last sheet was printed, five years later. The paper and printing of each sheet would form so much dead capital during the interval. Moreover, the publishers would print as many copies as they would be likely to sell for ten years. Measuring from the time when the first sheet was printed until the last copy containing it was sold would be fifteen years, the average being just half that period. Interest, insur- ance, and storage during this time would fully equal the original cost of the sheets. But the ~pages being stereotyped, the printing of the first sheet need not be commenced until the last was ready. Then there would need to be printed at once only as many copies as would be likely to be w~tnted in a year; for whenever the edition was found to be running out it could be reprinted from the plates. Taking these and other considerations into account, the en- tire cost of a book of this kind, exclusive of binding, is reduced about one half by stereo- typing it. An additional expense is indeed in- curred in the outset; but it has become an ax- iom among publishers that a book is not worth doing that is not worth stereotyping. But the process of stereotyping has many de- fects, especially when applied to the reproduc- tion of engravings. The plaster mould is not perfectly accurate; and the metal expands and contracts a little in heating and cooling. The difference in a page of type is hardly percepti- ble; but in an engraving, where each minute line should be faithfully reproduced, it becomes very evident. Stereotype casts of fine engrav- ings are never satisfactory. Besides, the metal being soft, and the fine lines very faint, after a few thousand impressions have been taken the plate becomes worn. Stereotyping has within a few years quite generally, and in the Harper Establishment en- tirely, been laid aside for the somewhat more expensive but far more perfect process of elec- trotyping. This is a purely scientific process, based upon the fact that the electric current produced by the galvanic battery will decom- pose compound bodies, and make an entirely new disposition of their elements. Thus it will separate water into its two elements, hy- drogen and oxygen. If a metal be combined with an acid it will dissolve the combination. A very common combination of this kind is the sulphate of copper, familiar under the name of blue vitriol as a material for dyeing. If a solution of this be made in water the result is a fourfold compound, the elements of which are copper, sulphur, oxygen, and hydrogen. The galvanic current decomposes this, dispos- ing in its own way of each element; the essen- tial point, for our present purpose, being that the copper, set free from the other elements, fastens itself to the positive pole of the battery. A galvanic battery, in its simplest form, consists of a plate of zinc and one of copper suspended in an acid liquid. If two wires, each connected with one of these plates, be brought into contact, an immediate effect is produced. The liquid appears to boil; each plate is eaten away, the zinc plate the most rapidly; great heat is evolved at the point of junction: a gal- vanic current has been established. The in- tensity of the action is augmented by increas- ing the number of the plates. The wire from the zinc plates is the positive pole, that from the copper plates the negative pole. Now if these two wires be immersed in a vessel con- taining sulphate of copper in solution, the cop- per, set free from the other elements at the negative pole, will settle in a pure metallic form upon the other pole. Bearing these facts in mind, let us follow a page of the Magazine into the electrotypers room. A sheet of wax is laid upon it, and it is placed under a powerful press, which forces the wax into the interstices of the page, pro- ducing a perfect mould. The face of this mould is covered with plumbagocommonlv called black-leadin order to give it a metallic surface. The mould is taken into the battery room. Here are a number of long narrow tan?s, filled wi~th a strong solution of sulphate of copper and a series of batteries. The pos MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 13 itive pole of a battery is attached to a mould, the negative is attached to a copper plate, and both arc placed ia the tank. In an instant a thin fihn of copper appears oa the surface of the mould. It is demonstrable that this is ia- finitely thiuner than the thinnest gold - leaf. This coating iucreases momently, and in from two to twelve hours, according to the intensi- ty of the operation, which is regulated by the electrotyper, it forms a shell of the re- quired thickness: about that of a sheet of stout paper. The upper surface is a perfect fac- simile of the original page, th~ minutest line and point of an engraving being reproduced with absolute precision. The under surface is exactly parallel with the upper. The shell looks as though one had with a series of punches stamped every line into a thin sheet of copper. This thin shell would be crushed fiat hy the immense pressure of the printing-press. It must he backed up with type-metal. Now this metal, even in a melted state, will not readily adhere to copper. But it will adhere to tin, and tin will adhere to copper. The shell, its hack having received a thin coating of tin, is put face downward in a shallow iron dish, and held firmly in its place by a series of small elastic rods. The dish is then swung by means of a crane, so that it rests in a fiat cal- dron filled with type-metal, kept in a melted state by a furnace; this furnace, as before stated, containing the only fire in the estab- lishment except that of the furnaces of the steam-engines. When the plate has acquired the same temperature as the metal, so that both ~vill contract equally in cooling, a quan- tity of the incited metal is dipped up with a ladle and poured over the plate, filling up ev- ery hollow and forming a solid hacking. The plates, thus hacked up, are considerably thick- er than is required. They are passed through a planing-machine, which reduces them to a perfectly uniform thickness of about one-sev- enth of an inch. They are then carefully ex- amined to see that they contain no imperfec- tions; the edges are smoothed and heveled, and they are ready for the pressman, who is technically called the printer. The principal press-room occupies the entir~ lower floor of the Cliff Street building. Thith- er the plates are conveyed, we following them. The plates for a sheet (for the Magazine six- teen in number) are fastened by clamps upon blocks, and so arranged that they shall come in the right places when the sheet is folded. In the mean while the paper has been prepared by wetting it. This is done in the basement by an ingenious arrangement of machinery which we have not space to describe. This TaE BATTERY ROOM. 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. basement contains many objects of interest. Here are the steam-engines, in their own room, which carry all the machinery of the establish- ment. here are the entrances to the subter- ranean vanits, extending nuder the other build- ing and beneath the adjacent street, for storing p~ per and plates. 1-here too are the great cyl- inder and rotary presses, used exclusively for printing limpers iVeelcly, which we shall soon describe. No other maclime has received as great im- provements as the printingpress within the last half century. It is probable that early impres- sions were taken by the planer and mallet, as proofs now often are, or by a brush, as is still practiced by the Chinese. Pictures are extant representing the printingpress as it existed ~ibont the year 1550; these differ only slightly from the press as it was two centuries later. The press upon which Franklin worked in Lon- don in 1725 is preserved. It is a clumsy struc- ture of wood. Iron was afterward used for parts; but the first presses wholly of iron appear to have heed made in the present century. The screw was the first power employed to give the bnpression; afterward various forms of the le- ver were used. These have been superseded by various modifications of the knee-joint com- bined with the lever. The illustration on pa~e 16 represents one of the best forms of the hand press, and indi- cates the mode of workin~. The form of type is imposed upon the bed (B), to which is hinged the tympan (T), and to this the frisket (F). The tympan is an irok frame covered with smooth cloth, behind which is a blanket the whole forming a cushion to prevent the iron platen from coming in contact with the type, and also to equalize the pressure upon every part. The frisket is a similar frame cov- ered with paper, having spaces cut out corre- sponding with the pages of the form, its object being to keep the sheet in its place. The printer takes a sheet of paper, lays it flat on the tympan, folds down the frisket over it, and then brings the tympan clown upon the type. Then, by means of the crank, he runs the form under the platen (P), which he brings down upon the form by pulling the lever. TIe then rolls back the bed, opens the tvmpan and frisk- et to their former position, takes off the sheet. and proceeds as before. The ink is composed of lamp-black and oil ground to about the consistence of molasses. It was formerly applied by means of two balls, which an assistant, while the pressnian was pull- ing, kept rubbing togeth- er to keep the ink even- ly distributed. Then rollers were introduced, BALLS. made at first of several thicknesses of blank- et wound evenly around a wooden centre. and covered with soft leather; and afterward as now, of a composition of glue and moles- BACKING UP. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 15 ses. For a long~ time it required two men to work a press-.--one to apply the ink, the pressman would accomplish about is a day; but he could not well run a i~~rge enough to work a sheet of more eight pages of this Magazine. To work cm both sides would require the working-days of e work must he done he rn~ ished .~A the ~t, which require page. As mere are, in- men sheets to each Number, it wonie require fifty hand presses to print the Magazine alone. Many attempts were made to construct a power press c~tpable of doing work as well and more rapidly than the hand press. These finally resulted in the Adams Press, which ~i A~~J ~O VAULTi. other to pull. Subsequently a self-inking ap- paratus was affixed to the press. In giving the pnll the pressman also raised a weight, which in its descent drew the roller over the type. One man, though with considerable in- crease of exertion, was thus able to do th~ work of two. FiiANKLmNs mass. * 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. is the only kind now used in this establishment for the Magazine and ~gL for hook - work. Harpers Weekly, for which still greater rapidity is required, being printed upon cyl- inder and rotary 1)1esses. The ap- pearance of the Adams Press is shown in the illus- tration. Its gen- eral operations may be made in- telligible, but th~ machinery by which they are ef- fected is very corn- I)lex. It contains all th~ essential parts of the hand I)ress, though dif- ferently arranged. The bed rises up against the plat- TUE UA~ID PRESS. en instead of the platen coming down upon the hed; the tym- lies horizontally, and is moved forward to re- pan is stationary under the platen; the frisket ceive the sheet, and backward to bring it over MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 17 the form, resting upon the bed, which has by increasing the pressure upon some parts and only the upward and downward motion. The diminishing it on others. An impression is feeder, who is u~ua1ly a girl, lays the sheet taken upon a sheet of paper. The engravings of paper upon an india d plane, the edge in this will appear poor and indistinct; the slightly projecting; it is caught by a set of heavy parts wilt appear too feeble, the light iron fingers, which pull it down upon the frisk- parts too strong. This sheet is pasted upon et, by which it is carried to the form which the tympan, and the operator, with a sharp has just received the ink; the impression is knife, cats oat the paper where be wishes to then given by the knee-joint from below; the lighten the color, and pastes on small pieces of sheet is then lifted, or rather blown, by a bel- paper where he wishes to deepen it; sometimes lows upon a series of endless tapes, from one thickness, frequently three or four. These which it is taken by a light frame, which turns pieces will often be not half as large as ones fin- upon an axle, at the proper moment, and whirls ger nail. The tympan, in printing, lies between the sheets over, laying them in a regular pile the form and the platen of the press, so that the at the end of the press opposite the one where force of the impression is increased where any they were received. of these bits has been added, just in proportion Meanwhil~e the press has been busy in dis- to their thickness and number, and is dimin2 tributing the ink. This is an essential oper- ished where any thing has been cut away. To ation, for without perfect distribution there can make ready a form with many cuts requires be no good printing. The distributing appa- the work of two men for from two to six days; ratus is quite complicated. One roller slowly and the press must stand idle during that time, revtdves, its lower surface immersed in a trough for if the pages were moved the tenth part of an of ink, bringing up a regulated quantity of ink inch from their original position on the bed, to the top, where it is touched at fixed inter- these overlays and cuttings - out would vals by another roller, transferring a portion not fall over the right place. As the time of a of ink to still another. Then there is a roll- press is worth ten dollars a day, this expense er which, besides revolving, has an oscillating from thirty to a hundred dollars for a single motion hack and forth, and another, called a sheetcan he ifordect only where a very large crab, which travels to and fro in a puzzling number are to be printed, or when a high price sort of way. The result of all this series of is put upon the work. The general excellence movements is that the ink is spread uniformly of the printing of the illustrations in this Maga- over the distributing-roller, from which it is 2ine is owing to the care bestowed upon mak- taken by the inking-roller, or rather set of ing them ready. Facing each other (pages 18, rollers; for several of them are arranged in a 19) ~re impressions taken from the same plate, frame, by which it is transferred to the type- showing the difference produced by making plates. ready. Had we chosen a larger cut, with a The whole of the complicated series of move- greater variety of tone, the difference would ments is performed by the press simultaneously have been still more marked. and automatically, the only human action bein~ The sheets having been printed are taken by that of the feeder, who places the paper so the serviceable Steam Paddy to the next that the press can get hold of it. An Adams story, where they are dried and pressed. For Press will work 6000 sheets, each containing drying the sheets are hung loosely npon the tuxteen pages, in a day; thus, with one feed- bars of a long rack, which when filled is pushed er, doing the work of six presses and press- into a room heated by steam-pipes. These men. The establishment contains 35 of these racks run upon rails fixed to the ceiling, in or- presses, of which at least eight are always at der to leave the floor unencumbered. The end work on the Magazine, and twice as many in of eisch rack consists of a board which just fits certain parts of the month. For executing the opening into which the f~ime runs.. When fine work rapidly nothing has been produced all are loaded and pushed in the entire front which equals them. Not a few of them have forms a close partition. There are 25 of these within a few years been sent to Europe. They racks, each capable of holding 2000 sheets, so were first bought for great Britain, we ~elieve, that 50,000 sheets may be dried at once; the by Mr. William Chambers, who, while on a process occupying about three hours. This I visit to America, saw them in operation in the the only place where the sheets are loos ly Harper establishment, and at once perceived placed so as to be readily combustible. But their superiority over any European press. there is no fire in the room, and the nearest The cut forms of the Magazine go through, gas-burner is so placed that no sheet can come before printing, another process, known as within several yards of it; and this burner I. making ready. The beauty of a printed lighted only upon those rare occasions when page of type depends upon its having a uniform the work can not be finished by daylight, color throughout. But to give the proper ef- which is only a few hours in the course of the fect to an engraving the heavy parts must be year. Thus the risk from fire in this most cx- blackerthat is, must receive more inkthan posed quarter is reduced to an almost infini- the light ones. As the ink is laid on uniform- tesimal amount. ly these parts of the sheet must be made to The dried sheets are then to be pressed, in take up more from the plate. This is effected I order to remove the indentations made by the VOL. XXXII.No. 187.B 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. type in the process of printing. They are taken to the other end of the s~ me floor, made into a pile composed of one printed sheet and a sheet of very smooth hard pasteboard, placed alternately. Snch a pile, about six feet hi~h, is placed in a hydraulic press. The Hydranlic (more properly the Hydrostatic) Press is th most powerful machine constructed by man. It is based npon the principle which the old philosophers named the hydrostatic paradox that any quantity of water, however small, may be made to lift any eight, however large. A simple illustration of this law is found in the fact that one can fill hogshead of water from below as well as from hove by ponrin~ it through the smallest possible pipe. The small column of water balances (i. e. has the same upward and doxx I ard pressure as) the larger one of the same height. The absolute pressure of each of these two columns varies as the area of the surfaces; and the area of two circles varies as the squares of their diameter. The sectional diagram presents the essential feat- ures of the Hydraulic Press in its simplest form: It con- sists of the small cylinder a, ~tted with a piston s, work- 4 by the lever c, 6, d; this communicates by a pipe with the large cylinder A, having a piston S, which ex- pands at the top into the platen P, on which is the substance W, to be com pressed. Now if the smaller piston is one inch in diameter, and the larger is twelve, one po nd at s will lift (i2X 12~l44) one hundred and MADE READY. Ta a xiae~noo DIAGRAM OF ~Y~IIAI~AC PRESS. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. ~19 forty-four at S; but if by means of the lever a force of one h rudred pounds is applied at s, it viii lift (IIIX 100) 14,400 pounds at S. In the hydrdulic presses used in this estab- lishment the smaller evOnder has a bore of only a qm rter of a inch, the larger one of a foot: a pound ou the small iston raises (12 X 12 X IX 4) 2304 pounds on the larger. But by means of a forcing-pump worked by the steam-engine water is driven with immense force into the small cylinder. This is regulated by the weight with which the escape-v~ lye (answering to the safety- ~dve of a steam-boiler) is loaded. The ordinary weight, applied by a lever, is 600 pounds, so that the press as actually worked has a force of 1,382, 00 poundsmore than sL hundred tons. This is often greatly ex- ceeded, and can ha increased o any amo at by adding to the pressure on the esc~ pc-valve. The possible power of the press is only limited by the strength of the ma erials of which it is constrncted. We ha e worked them so as ab- solutely to pull asunder the wrought iron rods, as thick as a roans leg, which unite the top and bottom plates of the press. Water has been driven by the hydraulic press throng the pores of a cast-iron cylinder fourteen inches thick. For the benefit of sundry half-taught in- ventors, who trouble us at intervals with papers on perpetual motion and the like, we st~ te th~ t neither the hydraulic press nor any other machine creates power. The most that it does, or can do, is to condense, distrib- ute, or arrange power communicated to it from without. If, for example, one pound on the smaller piston will raise a thousand pounds on the larger one for a foot, the smaller one must traverse a thousand feet to do this. If the power is a spring or a weight, as much force must be applied to coil the spring or wind up the weight as they exert in uncoiling or de- cending. In fact, every machine really in- volves an absolute loss of power from friction and other causes. Machinery simply applies the power given to it just when and where it is wanted. Our hydraulic presses are made very massive in order to endure the strain to which they are subjected. A press occupies a s ace of four OT MADE EADY. feet square, and is about eight feet high. One of these, when filled, weighs about five tons. There are eleven of them, placed side by side, all worked by a single pump, which can give its full force in six or eight minutes. The de d weight of fifty or sixty tons is thus ph ced at this end of the room within a space of four feetb: forty-four. But the pillars, beams, and gimders are not asked to sustain this weinht. The row of presses rests upon a solid wall car- ried up to this heigL from the foundation. After remaining in the press eight or ten hours, under a squeeze of 600 tons, the sheets are taken outt 11 their roughuesses effectually removedand are sent to the next floor above, where they are to be folded. The pages vere so arranged that, when the entire sheet is properly folded, each page will follow an- other in its proper order. Until quite recent- ly folding was performed solely hy manual labor. For the Magazine it is now executed by Chamberss Folding-Machine. To un- derstand its operation it must be borne in mm that each sheet of this kind is doubled at the middle; that doubled sheet is next folded through its centre; and that doubly - folded sheet is again doubled to~ether: there are thus three folds to each sheet; and each of these must be exactly i~ its right place, or the whole book will be irregular. Externally the Folding-Machine presents the appearance of a low table, the lid divided at the centre into two partsthe division not being shown in the ac- comp~ nying small illustra- tion. The operator lays the sheet upon the table in such a way that two small points pass through two holes in the sheet. These holes were made by two steel points in the press when the ~heet w~ s first printed. These point-holes serve as guides in several cases, which we have not thought necessary to specify. The knife, which looks very like the blade of a hoe, and appears in the illustration partly ele hL FoLnmNe-MAcIImaE. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. vated, now comes down on the sheet over the line of the first fold, and forces it down hetween two rollers which compress the douhling. This completes th~ first fold. A second and third knife and pairs of rollers, hidden under the cover of the machine, make the second and third folds in the same manner; and the triply- folded sheet is dropped down into a receptacle at the hottom of the machine. This is the working of the machine for fold- ing an octavo sheet. Still more wonderful is the machine which folds a duodecimo. To comprehend the operation of this it must he understood that a l2mo sheet (that is, as the phrase is now understood, one to he folded into twelve leaves, not pages) is imposed in two l)arts, of sixteen and eight pages respectively. These are cut apart. The larger part is fold- ~d precisely like an octavo, as hefore descrihed; he smaller part is folded only twice, and is then placed in the middle of the already folded larger part. These two parts are hence called the outset and the inset. This machine cuts them apart, folds each separately, puts the inset into its place in the outset, and drops the whole folded sheet into its receptacle. An ex- pert workwoman will fold ahout 3500 octavo, or two-thirds as many duodecimo, sheets in a day. The machine will fold ahout 14,000. The folded sheets are then taken up another story, and placed in piles in regular order on a long tahle. The gatherer walks along, picking up one from each pile. These make a Numher. Three holes are stahhed through the whole. In the illustration the Stahhing Machine is operated hy a treddle; it is now worked hy the steam-engine.. The sheets are then stitched together hy passing a thread through the holes. The cover is put on, and pasted at the hack; and the work of Making a Magazine is completed. With the exception of making the drawings and engravings, it has all heen performed in the Cliff Street huilding. The Magazines are now put into large trucks, carried down hy the Steam Paddy three sto- ries, and wheeled across into the Warcroom, whence they are forwarded to suhscrihers. This is a spacious apartment, occupying, with its two wings, the entire second floor of the Franklin Square huilding. It is entered from the street 20 TUE HYI)EAULLC PEEBSES. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 21 ov a broad iron staircase. Hero aro the brains of the establishment. In front is she counting room, separated from tho rost only by a low railing, so that every thing is in full view of the Proprietors. Outside of the railing are the desks and tables of the cashier, book-keepers, and clerks. Around the walls are bins and cases containing the various books and publications. The upper stories of this building contain rooms for Editors, Artists, and Engravers. The remaining, and greater portion of the space, is nsed as Stock Thorns. This is filled with bins, built up in ranges from floor to ceiling, nsed mainly for holding printed sheets and ierfeet copies of books reedy to be bound. There are in all about 6000 of these bins, disposed in ave- nues and streets. A Directory shows in what bin any sheet or book is deposited. Moreover, there are stowed away in vaults and boxes about one million of pages of stereotype and electro- type plates, and probably one hundred thousand wood-cuts, any one of which may be wanted at any moment. So accurate is the register kupt of them that any one can be found at a few minutes notice. About one quarter of the edition of the Mag- azine is sent through the mails to individual subscribers and to clubs. The remainder is sold to booksellers and dealers, who supl)ly their own customers, and usually receive their supply by express. In forwarding the Maga- zine copies are sent first to the most distant places. Thus the 10,000 copies for California are dispatched about the 15th of the month preceding its date. This explains the reason why the Monthly Record of Current Events is brought down only to about the close of the first week of the preceding month. Then the supplies for New O~ icans aiid St. Louis follow; next those for Cincinnati, Detroit, Chicago. iSlE MAiN WAREnOOM. ~T muieca. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and intermediate places; working toward home by way of Boston and Philadelphia. The pur- pose is, that the Magazine shall come out as nearly as possible at the same time in every part of the country. Where several customers reside in the same city special care is taken that the supplies for all shall go by the same conveyance, so that no one shall have any ad- vantage over another. Subscribers who receive their copies through the mail directly from the Publishers will no- tice that the address is printed upon each copy. These are all set up in type, and printed on narrow slips of paper. These slips, if pasted together, would reach nearly a tenth of a mile. The type is kept standing so that any additions or changes can be made. Thus when a new subscription is received from any place, the name and residence is not only entered upon the Subscription Book, but is at once put in its place in the type. These lists are carefully revised, and new slips struck off every month. But as most subscriptions are for a year, the greater part of these addresses are correct for twelve numbers; so that the labor of writing the name, town, county, and State of each sub- scriber twelve times every year is saved. A little machine, hardly as large as an apple- parer, turned by hand, cuts off every address from the long slip, and pastes it on the Mag- azine. Besides the saving of time and labor, there is a great increase in accuracy. The most careful clerk in copying 25,000 names and addresses every month can hardly fail to make some mistakes. He will occasionally omit a name, in which case the Subscriber will be annoyed by not receiving his Magazine; or he may write a name twice, when the Publisher incurs the loss of sending two copies instead of the one for which he is paid. By the present system it is almost impossible that any error should occur. If any one fails to receive his Magazine it is as certain as any thing can be that the reason is to be found in some fault or accident in that much-abused, and too often un- justly abused, institution, the Post-Office De- partment. There is still another important advantage in this system. On each copy, following the name, are figures showing with what Number the subscription expires, as recorded in the Mail Books. Thus, one whose subscription for a year, whether new or renewed, commences with this present Number (187), should receive it with 198 at the end of his name. If so, all is right. If, as often occurs, be should sub- scribe for two years, the figures should be 210. If this is not the case, the subscriber has only to write, calling attention to the fact; and if his next Magazine comes with the right figures, he is thus notified, without a special letter, that the error has been rectified. In effect, every subscriber has upon each copy a receipt not only for that Number, but for every one em- braced within the period of his subscription. He is, moreover, informed just when his sub- scription will expire, and so at what time to renew it, if he chooses. If he does not choose kOK1LON OF A STOCK ROOM. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 23 to renew it, the Magazine is stopped, and the subscriber will be sure not to be annoyed at some future time by having a bill presented for more or less Numbers which he never ordered and does not want. In about ten days from the time when the first package is sent to California the last subscriber in New York is served. It has been seen that a month can be allow- ed for printing most of th~ sheets of the Maga- zinc; but of Harpers Weekly about the same num- ber must be printed within two days at farthest. To accomplish this, machines swifter than even the Adams Press must be devised. There seems no way to effect this except by applying a rotary motion instead of the reciprocating motion of all platen presses. Taylors Cylin- der Press consists esseutially of a fiat bed which runs back and forth under a large revolving cylinder. The paper is fed by hand to this cylinder, which catches the edge of the sheet by a set of iron fingers, and carries it along in its revolution, bringing it at its lowest point upon the type-form lying on the bed below. The bed, it will be noted, has a reciprocating motion, back and forth, for it must be run clear beyond the cylinder in order to receive the ink at each impression; while the sheet, lying upon the cylinder, has a rotary motion. These two motions must be of exactly the right velocity, otherwise the sheet will not be brought at ex- actly the right place upon the type. A varia- tion of the tenth of an inch would spoil the sheet. Then the distance between the bed and the cylinder must be accurately regulated. The type can not exactly touch the cylinder, for be- tween them, besides the sheet of paper, is the tympan with its overlays. The distance be- tween bed and cylinder must be capable of alteration, for no two tympans will be of pre- cisely the same thickness. If in any case the distance were the thickness of a sheet of paper too great, no clear impression would be given; if too little, the impression would be blurred. This alteration is effected by screws which raise or lower the cylinder. The entire pressure re- quired for a cylinder press is much less than for a platen press. In the latter it is given simul- taneously over the whole sheet, by two fiat sur- faces coming together; in the former by the contact of a cylinder with a fiat surface. In theory this place of contact is a mathematical line, having only length and no breadth. Prac- tically they probably touch at any one moment on a plane a quarter of an inch broad, and four feet long. In an Adams Press, working a sheet of the size of the Magazine, the entire pressure is at the same moment upon an area of about 1000 square inches; in a cylinder press, working a sheet of the sume size, it is at each moment upon a surface of about 10 square inches. The inking apparatus of these presses is quite perfect, and they do very good work, even upon cuts. One of these presses will work 1200 sheets an hour, about double the number worked by an Adams Press. There are three of these presses, all of them working at once upon the same pages, triplicate casts being provided. Another press is kept in re- serve to be used in case of accident. This cylinder press is really the old copper-plate press with augmented power and speed; but all the principles of the one are contained in the other. A copper-plate press, as we have Tat TAYLOR CYLINDER VuISS. V HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. - ~ - ~ 0 ~ ~ .~ C) S C) -- o C) oP SC-CC ~ C) C)-. C).;~ 0 9) C- C) ~-~C) C) C).0 C) C) C)0~ C)~0)~ C) o ~ CO ~ C)~00 0 o o. 0 C) 0. .0 C)) ~ 0 C) C)o0 ~ ~ )~C) C-C) PEC -.0 ~iC ~ C C)oC) 0 ~.0 CO ~ C)O~ 0.C) 0 C) ~ 0 C-. C- ,~ .5 oj~ C~ 0.0~ 0 C- o- C- ~0 9). -0 9)-c ~. C ~0 ~ O ~- ~.0 ~ S ~ C-C) 0 C) 0 .-.CS ~ ~ CC o ~ .E ~ ~ 0. ~ .0 C- C- 0 C-C)C-C .-CC~ C) C)..C) .0. 0 ~ C) ~0~CC~ - ~CO~ CO C- ~ 0. C- - C) C)~E~ 0 C).0 5. ~ C - S C)C)C-~- .5 ~ .~ S ~ C) 0~0 ~0.C) 0 E-C-5C) 5 S 24 MAKING TIlE MAGAZINE. stated, can produce 300 impressions of the size of a page of the Weekly in ten hours. This cylinder press will print in the same time 12,000 sheets, each containing 8 pages. It, therefore, is c~ pable of doing,. for the purposes of the Weekly, the work of 320 copper-plates presses. A still more rapid machine is the Hoe Rota- ry Press. We can not nadertake to give more than a very general idea of the construction and operation of this. The essential feature of it is that all the action is rotary. The prom- inent thing is the drum, an iron cylinder a little more than four feet in diameter. Upon this the type-plates are fastened. These plates inste~ d of heing flat, as for the presses which we have heretofore descrihed, are cast into the forms of segments of a circle of the exact ra- dius of the drum. At different points around the circumference are four impression-cylinders, re- volving in a direction opposite to that of the drum, each of them furnished with a set of inking-rollers. The sheet is caught by an im- pression-roller, and pressed against the type- plates, which have just heen inked by passing under the inkin~-rollars. Four sheets are thus printed at every revolution of the drum. Each sheet passes along the endless tapes to the fly, which takes it off. The complicated and ingenious machinery by which all these, and many other, operations are effected, is only in- dicated in the engraving on page 24. This press works 5000 sheets an hour; and as it is run without stopping from $he moment it com- inences a Numher, it prints the regular edition 25 of one side of the Weekly in ahout twenty-four hours; the three cylkider presses helug at the same time at work upon the other side. Of some Numhers large extra quantities are manded; sometimes nearly 300,000 copics in all. In that case the presses are kept running, uninterruptedly, for from 50 to 75 hours. The principle of this Rotary Press is the same as that of the machines on which the large daily newspapers are printed. For these, however, a still greater rate of working is nec- essary. This is effected hy increasing the size of the drum, sons to give place to six, eight, or even ten impression-cylinders; so that ten sheets are printed at each revolution of the drum. These presses, also being intended for much coarser work, are far less coniplicated in their structure, and so can he run faster. A 10-cylinder press will print from 15,000 to 20,000 sheets an hour. Thus it happens that each of the 50,000 or 100,000 readers of the Herald, Times, or Tribune can find on his break- f~ st-tahle a paper, the last type for which was set after midnight. These presses are large- ly used in Gre~ t Britain. They are found in London, Birmingham, She ~eld, Manchester, Leeds, Glasgow, and Dundee. All the lead- in British daily newspapers, the Times in- cluded, are printed upon Hoe Presses, built in New York. One has even been purchased for Australia. To complete the description of Making the Magazine we will take a hasty glance over the Bindery, for many volumes of the lagazi sna~as AND ~annnz MAcifizE. tI~ j 26 IIARPE1VS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. are bound. If a thick volume were simply stitched together it would not open well, and besides the sheets would easily be broken away from the thread. The sheets are sewn to- gether, or rather to a number of cords. Three or more grooves are sawed into the back of the pile of sheets, so that they shall fit to the same number of cords stretched perpendicularly in a frame. The sewer takes a sheet, ts the grooves to tbe cords, and half opens the folded she t in the middle. A stout thread, its e first rm- lv fastened, is passed by means of a cedie over the first cord, then along the inside of the fold of the sheet to the seco~ d cord, over that and along the fold to the next, where it is secured by a hitch; then another sheet is laid on, a d the same operation is repe~ ted in revers order nntil a pile of sheets as high as the se~ er can conveniently reach has thus been sewed to the cords. Such a pile will probably contain a dozen volumes. The cords are long enough to allow an inch or two at each end, when the volumes are separated; these serve to fasten the sheets into the covers. The sheets thus sewed together are now ready to receive their covers, the edges having been, in most cases, trimmed by a machine. The great majority of books are bound in cloth, or, as it is nsnallycalled, muslin. This is manufactu ed of v~ rious colors and patterns. One man cuts the muslin front the piece into the roper shape and size for 2 siuble cover or case. Another cuts the pasteboard for the covers. This was formerly done by a pair of shears; it is now performed more rapidly and accurately by a machine having several pair of circular knives fixed upon an axle. These can be gauged for any distance so as to cut the board to any size. Muslin and boards are given to another man, who makes them into a case, the exact distance for the back having been ac- curately ascertained, for the thickness of every work will vary in accordance with the number of pages and weight of the paper used. These cases are then to be lettered and orna- mented in various ways. The lettering and some parts of the ornamenting aic usually in gilt. The cases are taken to the Gilding Room. The space on which any gilding is to appear is / zMaossu4e. MAKING THE MAGAZINE. 27 rubbed over with albumenin plain words, the white of an egg. Gold-leaf is laid over these spaces. T us work is done by women. The leaf is so thin that a breath of air would disturb it. It is covered with a screen of oiled popor, which, while it admits the pnssage of light, cuts off every current of air. The c~ so, thus gilt, is put into an embossing press, to the ph ten of which is affixed a die, cont~ ining wu~ tever letters and orna~ eats are to be pre- sented. This die is heated by a cerrent of stesm passing through tI e p1 ten; the bed of the press, carrying t e case, is pressed up aa aiust the die. Wherever the face of this heated die is presse into it th~ gold-leaf is firmly fixed; all the rest can be brushed off. This is done over a locked drswer having a perforated cover, through the holes of which t. e s irplus gold falls. When a large number of cases have been brushed off it is no uncom- mon thing to find a half-peck of powdered cold in t e drawer below. This, indeed, lies very loosely, and when melted into a sold block would occu1 v far less sp~ cc. But the gold thus brus~ ed o here is worth some 1500 a yeur. his room has a smooth metal floor, so that the sw~epiugs may be collected, for they contain more or less loose gold, every gr~ in of whiel is sepsrated from the rubbish and saved. Th.~ cases having been made and embossed the sheets are ph ced within them, properly pasted, an th oleme having heen put into a screw press, with a force considerable in itself, tboubh small when compared with that of the hydraulic press, is finished an ready for sale. If the volume is to be full bound or half bound in le thor, whether sheep, calf, or morocco, there are several varhetions in the processes. The covers, i stead of hem made in good part by machinery, are formed separ~ to- ly by hand. For t ~e lettering the type are set up, screwed into a frame, affixed to a handle, and pressed over a p~ rt of the surface previoks- ly covered with gold-leaf. The ornamental lines re usually engr~ ved upon the edge of a wheel, which is fixed to a handle, and pressed upon the places where a gilt character is to ap- pear. All the tools must he used hot, in order to fix the gold-leaf in its proper place. The too1s are kept hot by little gas furnaces. The gold not xed by the heated tool is wiped off by a cloth, One of these cloths in a short time becomes fairly saturated with gel invisible to the eye. Such a cloth, fifteen inches square, if thro va into the street, would be picked up only b - a rag-picker, who sees a possible penny in a half-putrid bone; but it will contain five or six dollars worth of gold. Such a rag is, of course, not thrown away. It is sent, with other sweepi gs, to a refiner, who abstracts all the gold hidden in its dingy meshes. A book in bindingtb t is, in being clothed passes through about ten hands. These form three or four separate trades, quite as distinct FINI5HuOS. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as those of the hatter, the tailor, and the shoe- maker, who combine to clothe the human form divine. There are two reasons why a hook hound or half bound in calf or morocco costs more than the same hook in cloth. First, leather costs more than muslin. Second, hand lahor enters more largely into it than machine work. Preparing the covers of books hound wholly or in part in leather is technically called finishing. There is a favorite style of half-leather bind- ing which involves a process so beautiful as fairly to entitle it to a separate paragraph. This is where the hack is of leather and the sides of marbled paper. A shallow tank is filled with water in which gum has been dis- solved. The different colors are simply ground in water. The marbler dips a brush into a pot, and with a peculiar flirt sprinkles the color into the tank. The color spreads upon the surface in irregular oval forms, just as a drop of oil spreads upon water. He then in like manner sprinkles other colors. These colors will not mix; a drop of one falling upon another mere- ly crowds a space for itselg altering the shape of the first color. A third color does the same tIming to both, and so on. Sometimes only one color is used; sometimes half a score. Every color presents a series of forms bounded by curved lines. Thus, if the first volor was red and the second blue, if a drop of the latter fails upon the centre of a drop of the former, there will be a blue centre surrounded with a red ring; if a blue drop falls upon the edge of a red one, there will be a blue circle catting into the circumference of a red one; and so on through the whole range of colors, no~ one of which in any case intermixes with another. The pattern is frequently varied by drawing a long comb through the colors at any stage of the process. The teeth of the comb pull out the. colors into a series of ovals, or rather para- bolas. If the comb, instead of being drawn straight through, has also a motion from side to side, an altogether different l)attern is pro- dn~ed; if drawn twice, lengthwise and cross- wise, still another; and so on ad injiaitsesn. When the marbler has produced the pattern that suits him for the time, he lays a sheet of paper upon the tank. This takes up all the colors, just as they lay upon the surface of the gum-water. A little color will he left around the edges of the tank; this is struck off by a flat ruler, and the process is renewed. This ol)eration, which it has taken so long to de- scribe, is performed very rapidly, varying in time with the number of colors and combings. Two minutes for a sheet of paper of the size of sixteen pages of the Magazine is a fair aver- age. If the edges of a book are to be marbled the process is the same. The tank is prepared as before, and the marbler takes as many volumes as he can conveniently holdthe covers not having been put onand dips the ends and side successively. The sheets are so firmly pressed together that the colors only touch the edges without penetrating between the leaves. The wonder of the whole process is that while the patterns may be infinitely varied, the oper- ator can by this apparently chance operation produce any number of the same kind. He will, if he wishes, make a thousand successive sheets all apparently alikethough in reality no one is exactly like another. Abroad this process is kept as a great secret. Mr. J. G. Kohl, tIme famous Germnaim traveler, who had 11 -~ MACuLINO. MAKING TIlE MAGAZINE. _____________________________________________ 29 visited almost all thc great mnnnfacturing es- house-man does not deliver the paper to the tablishments in Europe, was never able to see pressman his room will be clogged in a few it until it was shown to him in this establish- hours. If the superintendent of the press-room ment. does not promptly send the printed sheets to The sheets when marbled are rough, and the drying-room his floor will be clogged; and the colors are indistinct. To bring out the full so on to the end. If an interruption should beauty of the tints, and their endlessly-varied happen, a moments glance would show exactly combinations, the sheet is burnished. This where it was and whose was the fault. must be done by rubbing, for no amount of A daily newspaper and a periodical, like our iwessure would give it a polish. To effect this own, for example, are really the cheapest things an agate burnisher is fastened to the end of a produced, regarding them simply as manufac- long perpendicular lever, fixed at one end, and tured articles. If we had space we would like moved back and forth by the steam-engine over to show how much a man gets for the four or a bed having a curve answering to the radius five cents which he pays for his Morning Herald of the circle which would be described by the or Tines, or his Evenings Post or Uomuerciel. lever. The sheet is placed upon the bed, which But we must confine ourselves to what belongs is pressed up by a treddle, and each part to our special subjectthe Making of the brought successively under the burnisher. No- Magazine. thing less hard than a flint or agate will serve The white paper upon which our Magazine for a burnisher. The hardest steel would be- is printed costs nearly three-fifths of the amount come scratched in a few hours. The hard agate, which the Publishers receive for cach perfected indeed, requires polishing every few weeks. copy. Every other expense comes out of the Let us now, by aid of the Sectional Diagram remaining two-fifths of the price. These ex- on page 30, briefly retrace the operations which peuses include salaries and wages paid to edi- have been described. In this the front wall of tors, authors, artists, engravers, electrotypers, the manufacturing building is supposed to be printers, binders, and clerks; interest upon cap- removed, so that the entire series of operations can be seen at a glance. On the 1st floor, i. e., the basement, the paper is prepared and given out, and the Weekly printed. Here, also, are the steam - engines, of which there are two: one of 123- horse power, used by day, when all the machinery is to be worked; the other, of about one-third that power, mused at night, when the Weekly presses only are to be run. The boilers do not appear, for they are in the court -yard there are two of these, only one being at work at a time, the other being in reserve, to he used when its mate may be un- dergoing repairs. On the 2d floor is the main press- room. On the 3d floor the sheets are (lried amid l)ressed. On the 4th they are folded and gathered. On the 5th they are sewed. On the 6th the book is bound. In the 7th story are the Com- posing and Electrotype Rooms. It will be seen that the sheets of paper go regularly uip for six stories in a continuous stream, al- most automatically when once started. They can not stop for more than the brief- est interval. If the ware- iieaNusuiiNG. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ital laid out in buildings, machinery, and stock; wear and tear of buildings and machinery; in- surance and taxes; with a margin left for Publishers profits upon the whole enterprise. From all these items of cost we select one for specific examination. The plates for a sin- gle Number of the Magazine cost about $3000. This includes the sums paid to editors, contribu- tors, artists, engravers, compositors, and elec- trotypers for that one Number. This cost is incurred at the outset, before a single sheet is printed, and must be distributed pro rate among all the copies. If only 1000 were printed, this alone would be three dollars for every copy. Five dollars would be as little as any one Num- ber would cost to the buyer; and at this rate the aggregate profit upon 1000 copies would not be enough to warrant any one to produce them. If 10,000 were printed, this cost would be reduced to thirty cents a copy. Then each copy of the Magazine might probably be sold for a dollar. But if 100,000 are printed from the same plates, this first cost of $3000 amounts to only three cents on each copy, and the Mag- azine can be produced at its present rate. There is a prevalent opinion that the intro- duction of machinery is detrimental to the in- terests of mechanics and workmen. It is said that If a machine is introduced by means of which one man can do the work of ten, nine will be thrown out of employment. To show the fallacy of this opinion, we take the single instance of the, printing-press, which we have shown to be a machine which saves as much labor as any one ever invented. Suppose this had stopped with the Franklin Press, the cost of books would have been greatly beyond what it now is, and the sale in consequence much smallcr. Then a Magazine like ours, or a daily newspaper of large circulation, would have been impossible, simply because the copies could not be printed in time. The amount of printing now done is so much greater that there are more pressmen employed than there would have been if hand-presses only were used. Then, again, each printed work gives employ- ment, in one way or another, to many persons, such as compositors and binders, to say nothing of authors, artists, and engravers, and the nu- merous classes employed in the distribution and sale of books and periodicals. A daily news- paper involves in its getting up an cxpcnse of which few have any idea. One New York daily officially states that during the four years of the war it has paid halTt a million of dollars for the single item of correspondence from the army. Its entire expenses, before a single copy of any Number is printed, can not be less than half a million of dollars a year. It bears all this expense, and yet sells the sheet for less 9 30 1T{i~I SECTION OF MANLTFACTOUY. A COMMON STORY. 31 than a cent a copy more than the white paper Or, had he whispered when his sweetest kiss costs, simply because there are 100,000 people Was warm upon my mouth in fancied bliss, who are willing to pay four cents each morning He had kissed another woman like to this for a daily newspaper. If, now, it sold only 10,000, which would he the utmost that it could It were less bitter! Sometimes I could weep furnish in season without some elaborate print- To be so cheated, like a child asleep ing machine, it would be obliged to expend a Were not the anguish far too dry and deep. far less sum in procuring material, and must also charge a much higher price. The sub- So I built my house upon anothers ground scribers would get a much smaller and poorer Mocked with a heai~ just caught at the rebound; article, at a much greater cost. It is true that A cankered thing that looked so firm and sound. a large portion of the receipts of a newspaper are derived from advertisements; but it can get a large number of advertisements at high prices only because it has a large sale. Re- duce the sale, and the revenue from advertise- ments is reduced in a ratio fully equal. The principle might be illustrated in like manner in the case of almost any machine ap- plied to any manufacture. It is indeed true that a machine may temporarily throw a num- ber of persons out of their usual emplQyment. But in nine cases out often, as we have shown in the case of the printing-press, it in a short time adds to the number of men actually em- ployed in their special trade; and in the tenth and exceptional case it opens new employment of a kindred nature. A COMMON STORY. So, the truths out. Ill grasp it like a snake; It will not slay me. My heart shall not break A while, if only for the childrens sake. For his too, somewhat. Let him stand unblaeied; None say he gave me less than honor claimed, Exceptone trifle scarcely worth being named; The heart. Thats gone. The corrupt dead might be As easily raised up, breathingfair to see, As he could bring his whole heart back to me. I never sought him in coquettish sport, Or courted him as silly maidens court Aiid wonder when the longed-for prize falls short. I only loved himany woman would; But shut my love up till he came and sued, Then poured it oer his dry life like a flood. I was so happy I could make him blest! So happy that I was his first and best, As he mine, when he took me to his breast. Ah me! if only then he had been true! If for one little year, a month or two, He had given me love for love, as was my due!. Or, had he told me, ere the deed was done, He only raised me to his hearts dear throne Por substitute! because the queen was gone! And when that heart grew coldercolder still, I, ignorant, tried all duties to fulfill, Blaming my foolish pain, exacting will, Allany thing but him. It was to be; The full draught others drink up carelessly Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for me. I say againbe gives me all I claimed, I and my children never shall be shamed; He is a just manhe will live unblamed. OnlyO God, 0 God, to cry for bread, And get a stone! Daily to lay my head Upon a bosom where the old loves dead! Dead? Fool! It never lived. It only stirred Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None heard; So let me bury it without a word. Hell keep that other woman from my sight, I know not if her face be foul or bright; I only know that it was his delight As his was mine: I only know he stands Pale, at the touch of these long-severed hands, Then to a flickering smile his lips commands, Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger show. He need not. When the ships gone down, I trow, We little reck whatever wind may blow. And so my silent moan begins and ends. No worlds laugh or worlds taunt, no pity of friends Or sneers of foes, with this my torment blends. None knowsnone needs. I have a little pride; Enough to stand lip, wife-like by his side, With the same smile as when I was a bride. And I shall take his children to my arms; They will not miss those fading, worthless charms; Their kissah! unlike hisall pain disarms. And haply, as the solemn years go by, He will think sometimes with regretful sigh, The other woman was less true than I. DiNAH MARIA MITLOcK.

Dinah M. Mulock Mulock, Dinah M. A Common Story 31-32

A COMMON STORY. 31 than a cent a copy more than the white paper Or, had he whispered when his sweetest kiss costs, simply because there are 100,000 people Was warm upon my mouth in fancied bliss, who are willing to pay four cents each morning He had kissed another woman like to this for a daily newspaper. If, now, it sold only 10,000, which would he the utmost that it could It were less bitter! Sometimes I could weep furnish in season without some elaborate print- To be so cheated, like a child asleep ing machine, it would be obliged to expend a Were not the anguish far too dry and deep. far less sum in procuring material, and must also charge a much higher price. The sub- So I built my house upon anothers ground scribers would get a much smaller and poorer Mocked with a heai~ just caught at the rebound; article, at a much greater cost. It is true that A cankered thing that looked so firm and sound. a large portion of the receipts of a newspaper are derived from advertisements; but it can get a large number of advertisements at high prices only because it has a large sale. Re- duce the sale, and the revenue from advertise- ments is reduced in a ratio fully equal. The principle might be illustrated in like manner in the case of almost any machine ap- plied to any manufacture. It is indeed true that a machine may temporarily throw a num- ber of persons out of their usual emplQyment. But in nine cases out often, as we have shown in the case of the printing-press, it in a short time adds to the number of men actually em- ployed in their special trade; and in the tenth and exceptional case it opens new employment of a kindred nature. A COMMON STORY. So, the truths out. Ill grasp it like a snake; It will not slay me. My heart shall not break A while, if only for the childrens sake. For his too, somewhat. Let him stand unblaeied; None say he gave me less than honor claimed, Exceptone trifle scarcely worth being named; The heart. Thats gone. The corrupt dead might be As easily raised up, breathingfair to see, As he could bring his whole heart back to me. I never sought him in coquettish sport, Or courted him as silly maidens court Aiid wonder when the longed-for prize falls short. I only loved himany woman would; But shut my love up till he came and sued, Then poured it oer his dry life like a flood. I was so happy I could make him blest! So happy that I was his first and best, As he mine, when he took me to his breast. Ah me! if only then he had been true! If for one little year, a month or two, He had given me love for love, as was my due!. Or, had he told me, ere the deed was done, He only raised me to his hearts dear throne Por substitute! because the queen was gone! And when that heart grew coldercolder still, I, ignorant, tried all duties to fulfill, Blaming my foolish pain, exacting will, Allany thing but him. It was to be; The full draught others drink up carelessly Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for me. I say againbe gives me all I claimed, I and my children never shall be shamed; He is a just manhe will live unblamed. OnlyO God, 0 God, to cry for bread, And get a stone! Daily to lay my head Upon a bosom where the old loves dead! Dead? Fool! It never lived. It only stirred Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None heard; So let me bury it without a word. Hell keep that other woman from my sight, I know not if her face be foul or bright; I only know that it was his delight As his was mine: I only know he stands Pale, at the touch of these long-severed hands, Then to a flickering smile his lips commands, Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger show. He need not. When the ships gone down, I trow, We little reck whatever wind may blow. And so my silent moan begins and ends. No worlds laugh or worlds taunt, no pity of friends Or sneers of foes, with this my torment blends. None knowsnone needs. I have a little pride; Enough to stand lip, wife-like by his side, With the same smile as when I was a bride. And I shall take his children to my arms; They will not miss those fading, worthless charms; Their kissah! unlike hisall pain disarms. And haply, as the solemn years go by, He will think sometimes with regretful sigh, The other woman was less true than I. DiNAH MARIA MITLOcK. 32 IJAIIPE S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZI TB AE NATU AL WI~ALTU 0 VIRCLJIA. rpIIE term1 atio of the xvar, and, wi~h it, Idaho, Nev~ d~, and Colorado. But of ha. I.. the ore throw of th. t j~5tIt tion which h s )ractieal avail was II their knowledge, SO lonb ~ver acted as the only a insurmountable br- as slaverythat sal sh and obdurate so tinel rier against the true develoPme t of the kouth stood b~rrin the door of progres~, not only either by spontafleO s action or by aid from against foreign but even local enterprise? B a jroa ~ re rapi ly conce tratinb the eyes of for the overthrow of that institution Virginia the whole nation upon the surprising natural and all her treasures would have been to-day, wealth which Virginia co tai s, a are likely and for ges to come, a sealed book to the res~ to reveal a gra deur and amount of resources of the world. of which the worl had hitherto but a very Professor Frederick Overman, o e of the most skillful ~ineralOgi5t5 of the age, says, remote co ception. Any oue, on taki g a glance at the map of far back s 1851, in his work a titled Practi- the Unite State, will notice that extix o di- c~ 1 Mineralogy There are gold~bearing lo- nary chai of ~ountain5 ri iu~, like a ma~nifi- calities in Virginia and North Carolina whieh, cent anomaly, from the vast level exp~ n. of a if not equal to those of California at prese t, v~ ole contlue t. This moantain c amthe will be of greater importance in the future, Allegh~ ies a d the Blue Ridge~iadicate the nd, I predict, more s re and lasting. Ii coirse of one of the most extraordin ry belts another place, ~hile favorably comparing the of richness to be fos ud in the world. his mineral form tie of Virgi ia with that of oth- gol 1en zone c~ u be istinetly traced, in one er more re owned bc lities, he says: It may unbroken line, o ar a length of more than 500 be asserted, as a fact, that all native sulphurets, miles, extending all the w y from Maryla d pk rticularly all the suiphurets of iron, contai to the southwestern extremity of Torth Caro- ~old. As sulphurats can not possibly penetrate lina, and run ing parallel with the Allegh nies. any rock but from below, we may naturally Its width is, in its broadest part, from twenty conclude that the heaviest body of such kind to twenty-five miles, a d at times it is con- of ore must necessarily lie deep in the earth. tracted to a distance of only two or three miles. This conclusion is supported and confirmed by The val a of this region, however compara- practice; for all pyriteous veins re invariably tively u headed and neglected by the world at found to improve in quantity d quality with 1 r~a, was by no maa s unknown to scientific the depth. This circumstance speaks very fa- en, bot.h native a d foreign. Throughout vorably for the gold form ation of the Southern the whole of the Califor ia excitement there tatas. We have here a belt of gold ores of are plenty of lea: ad and practical peo;de unparalleled extant, immense width, and un- \ho were wall aware of the fact that, ~ithin doubtedly reaching to the primitive rock, which, two or three days easy travel from New York, on n average, can ot be less tha 2000 feet sie teemi g soil of Virginia was conce~ ling the deep. Here is a mass of precious metal, in- very same wealth whi h hundrads of thousands closed in the rock, which can not be exhausted are willing to go an delve, thousands of paril- for ages; and, in this respect, the region i ous miles away, in the wild~ of California, question~~Virginia and North Carolinais the TiI liTiZO 0 OLi~ Mi2~5X

J. R. Hamilton Hamilton, J. R. Natural Wealth of Virginia 32-43

32 IJAIIPE S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZI TB AE NATU AL WI~ALTU 0 VIRCLJIA. rpIIE term1 atio of the xvar, and, wi~h it, Idaho, Nev~ d~, and Colorado. But of ha. I.. the ore throw of th. t j~5tIt tion which h s )ractieal avail was II their knowledge, SO lonb ~ver acted as the only a insurmountable br- as slaverythat sal sh and obdurate so tinel rier against the true develoPme t of the kouth stood b~rrin the door of progres~, not only either by spontafleO s action or by aid from against foreign but even local enterprise? B a jroa ~ re rapi ly conce tratinb the eyes of for the overthrow of that institution Virginia the whole nation upon the surprising natural and all her treasures would have been to-day, wealth which Virginia co tai s, a are likely and for ges to come, a sealed book to the res~ to reveal a gra deur and amount of resources of the world. of which the worl had hitherto but a very Professor Frederick Overman, o e of the most skillful ~ineralOgi5t5 of the age, says, remote co ception. Any oue, on taki g a glance at the map of far back s 1851, in his work a titled Practi- the Unite State, will notice that extix o di- c~ 1 Mineralogy There are gold~bearing lo- nary chai of ~ountain5 ri iu~, like a ma~nifi- calities in Virginia and North Carolina whieh, cent anomaly, from the vast level exp~ n. of a if not equal to those of California at prese t, v~ ole contlue t. This moantain c amthe will be of greater importance in the future, Allegh~ ies a d the Blue Ridge~iadicate the nd, I predict, more s re and lasting. Ii coirse of one of the most extraordin ry belts another place, ~hile favorably comparing the of richness to be fos ud in the world. his mineral form tie of Virgi ia with that of oth- gol 1en zone c~ u be istinetly traced, in one er more re owned bc lities, he says: It may unbroken line, o ar a length of more than 500 be asserted, as a fact, that all native sulphurets, miles, extending all the w y from Maryla d pk rticularly all the suiphurets of iron, contai to the southwestern extremity of Torth Caro- ~old. As sulphurats can not possibly penetrate lina, and run ing parallel with the Allegh nies. any rock but from below, we may naturally Its width is, in its broadest part, from twenty conclude that the heaviest body of such kind to twenty-five miles, a d at times it is con- of ore must necessarily lie deep in the earth. tracted to a distance of only two or three miles. This conclusion is supported and confirmed by The val a of this region, however compara- practice; for all pyriteous veins re invariably tively u headed and neglected by the world at found to improve in quantity d quality with 1 r~a, was by no maa s unknown to scientific the depth. This circumstance speaks very fa- en, bot.h native a d foreign. Throughout vorably for the gold form ation of the Southern the whole of the Califor ia excitement there tatas. We have here a belt of gold ores of are plenty of lea: ad and practical peo;de unparalleled extant, immense width, and un- \ho were wall aware of the fact that, ~ithin doubtedly reaching to the primitive rock, which, two or three days easy travel from New York, on n average, can ot be less tha 2000 feet sie teemi g soil of Virginia was conce~ ling the deep. Here is a mass of precious metal, in- very same wealth whi h hundrads of thousands closed in the rock, which can not be exhausted are willing to go an delve, thousands of paril- for ages; and, in this respect, the region i ous miles away, in the wild~ of California, question~~Virginia and North Carolinais the TiI liTiZO 0 OLi~ Mi2~5X THE NATURAL WEALTH OF VIRGINIA. 33 most important of all known gold deposits, Cal- ifornia not excepted. The gold regions of Virginia differ in many respects from those of other localities. In Cal- ifornia, for instance, gold is most abundantly found in the trap-rocks, or those of igneous origin; but in the Southern States it is not. In the gold-bearing strata of Virginia trap-rock is frequently found intruding, but it does not appear to be the matrix of the gold. Sycuite, gneiss, green-stone, and porphyry appear to be rather the primary sources, and the pyrites are evidently the immediate matrix. All iron py- rites contain gold, and often silveronly ex- cepting those of the coal formationand the extensive gold deposits of Virginia may be said to be literally one continuous belt or accumu- lation of veins of iron pyrites. Most of the gold-bearing rock which has hitherto been mined in Virginia is principally a kind of talcose slate, somewhat resembling soap-stone, but not so greasy to the touch. This slate is red and ferruginous at the surface, but, at a greater depth, is filled with small crystals of iron pyrites which are decomposed near the surface and appear as peroxyd of iron, giving the slate a brown or yellow tinge. This slate is a metamorphic rock, and runs in a regular belt parallel with the Alleghany mountain chain. The gold found in the State of Virginia oc- curs in exceedingly small grains, often so fine as to be not only invisible to the naked eye, but undiscernible even by the assistance of a strong lens. This is the case even when the ores are worth three or four dollars per bushel. Some veins of the slate region contain coarse gold, in grains as large as the head of a pin and even larger. These are generally found in veins of quartz in which the pyrites are con- centrated into larger masses. Where the py- rites are disseminated in fine crystals through the mass of the rock the gold is found to be very fine. In the first pyrites the gold is often invisible, even if; after separation, it appears to be coarse. By natural or artificial decompo- sition the gold becomes visible, the pyrites are converted into oxyd of iron, and, by aid of a lens, the gold can be detected embedded in the oxyd of iron. Another form in which native gold is not unfrequently found in Virginia is in quartz, in which it is embedded. Solid white quartz, both in veins and in crystals, is found, in which the gold appears in spangles, l)lates, grains, and also in perfectly developed crystals. Throughout the gold regions of Vir- ginia copper pyrites are found in all the me- tallic deposits. It invariably accompanies the gold-bearing iron pyrites, and is always con- sidered a good indication of richness. Cases have often occurred in which the largest amount of treasure has been abandoned because the miners had not the knowledge or proper ap- pliances for separating the precious yield of gold and copper. To give any adequate description of the min- eral wealth which Virginia contains would be VOL. XXXII.No. 187C not only to minutely describe every rod of her entire length, embracing hundreds of miles, but to enumerate almost every mineral of value hitherto known among mankind. It is not in gold alone that she abounds, but, scattered in profusion over almost her entire surface, are to be foundiron, copper, silver, tin, tellurium, lead, platinum, cinnabar, plumbago, manga- nese, asbestos, kaolin (porcelain clay), slate clay (fire clay), c,al, roofing slate of the great- est durability, marbles of the rarest beauty, soap-stone, sulphur, hone-stone equal to the best Turkey, gypsum, lime, copperas (sulphate of iron), blue-stone (sulphate of copper), grind- stones, cobalt, emery, and a variety of other materials that we have hitherto been compelled to import or to do without. Indeed it may be said, without exaggeration, that in the single State of Virginia, in the most singular juxta- position of what might be considered geologic- ally incongruous materials, is to be found an almost exhaustless fund of God-given treasures, more than enough to pay off our whole national debt, and only awaiting the magic touch of capital and enterprise to drag them to light for the benefit of man. The writer of this article made a tour, in the month of August last, through a portion of the gold regions of Virginia in company with three very eminent geologists and mineralogists; two of them old native Virginians, and the other a resident of Kansas. The portion we se- lected for visiting was three of the richest min- eral countries in the immediate neighborhood of the James River and Kanawha Canal: viz., Goochland, Buckiugham, and Fluvanna. In these three counties alone we visited no fewer than twenty-five rich and well known mines, teeming with gold, copper, silver, roofing slate, copperas, granite, and many other valuable materials. Thu first place we visited was Belzoro Mine. This truly splendid estate is situated some fifty miles from Richmond, on the White Hall Road, and about seven miles from Columbia, the point at which the mineral treasures of this region come in contact with the commercial world, through the James River Canal. The)3elzoro Mine may be said to be the very centre of one of the richest nests of gold deposits to be found any where in Virginiaperhaps on this conti- nent; for not only in itself but in all the prop- erties immediately contiguous to it: viz., the Marks, Collins, Eades, the Big-Bird, etc., evi- dences were scattered every where of the whole earth teeming with mineral wealth. I really believe that on one and all of these estates (es- pecially the Belzoro and that of Lancelot Marks immediately adjoining) there are whole acres of ground where every scrap of rock, each handful of soil contains more or less of the precious metals. The great antiquity of the Belzoro Mine is evident from the fact that crucibles, made by the Indians, or, perhaps, some remoter and un- known tribes, have been found on it, bearing a HARPERS NEW MO7PHLY MAGAZINE. rude resemblance to an acorn cup, and inani- fesiy devoted to the use of meltiub the pre- cious metals. Gold was rst discovered here by s rface-wnshing in 1832. Th property then belonged to Mr. William Southworth, and gold-washings continued, with varied success, up to 1849, when it ~as purcha. ed by ti a pres- ent ro~ rictor, Mr. Georm Fisher, P con- L ins 382 acresn large portion of which is well ti, ~hered. Mr. Fisher, who is conidered t. e ablest miner~ logist of Virgini~, h s been vorkiug it for vein~ ever since 184~, and has ni;e dy discovered sev ~n mo~t vaineole on s, varying in width from 2 feet 6 inches to 30 feet, in which the whole t ta is ~old-heariag. Thor :~ one bill of 30 cres on vhich nearly every sqo: re foot of mere surf: cc veil repays fo: shi. g. As much as $a00 pci d: y has been obtained 5 01110 se ems sing m chine aloac, end $100 per day frequentl from six or~inary stamas, There a:e about 50 ncre~ of creek and br: ac1a fiats, evesy part of vhich n ill well repay lurface-w shin . ~h1s property also coo~aias copper, lead, and iron; m~ ny be uti- f 1 pcchncns of thes ores h ~ eon fcc ad there. Nuggets of gold, weighIng fros 4 to penaylveights, ha ~c also be n frequently found on the surf: cc. The larks Mine may e s id to stand next in rank moog those we visited a this isime dh te neighbom cod. This ~cry valuable prop- ertv, compriin0 2o0 acres, is houndo I on three sides by famon gold mines: the Eaies, the Big-Bir I, and the Boizoro, just described. ur- face-washing w s commenced here in 1830 by Woodfork, then followed up by Coward, then by George isher, then - Jinor Webb, and final- ly by Lancelot Marks, the present proprietor who is now engaged upon it. There are four gol -bearing qi artz veins on this place, all o: which h: ye beca prospected and found to h exceedingly rich. It is with this place as with many others of the nc est to be found throc gh- out Viraini. machinery has never been prop- eny applie to the developmmt of their me- sonre s, and the boundless tre sure the r con- tain may, therefore, ho said to hi ye been liter- ally natouche The M rks Gol Mine can host be iO: che by pacl-et from Richa ond to Columbia, thence by back, 7 miles, over a good ro d; or by c r- ria~ e fro Hichasond, 50 miles. Irrespective of its mm al e lth it is a rich ard lo clv farm, ith good d vellio~-. ouse, kitchen, to- bacco-houses, st~ bios, etc., aLo well inclosed fields, excellent or~hard of old fruit tro~s, awl deliciously cool an 1 unfiling ~iings of ~te~. There are : ho it 0 acres of he 1 ad in cultiva- tion, besides pa~ture, and about 100 acres of heavily-timbered land, s ifficiont to last the es- tate for ery in ny years; while : bundant wa- ter-power exIsts on tl e place to run an en inc for the irpose of minmn Among the other mh es we visited in Gooch- 1. a I County were t. e Lol uy, Nicholas, H x~hes, Collins, E .es, and X aller; all of whic bore ho awe proofs of redundant nude 0101 el woal h, and possess a thocs: ad agricultural at- tributes to tempt the hnmijant irrespective 0: the mineral treasures teey are known to con- a six, as coac sun THE NATURAL WEALTH OF VIRGINIA. 35 tam. In most of these nothing was being done, or had ever been done, but the simplest surface- washing with the rudest appliances. At only one of them, the Wailer, did we see any thing like an active attempt at working, and, in this case, although they had only proceeded a few feet into the ground, they were already being nml)ly repaid for their labor. The Wailer Mine was discovered in 1831, when Cole and Woolfork carried on surface- washing there for four months. Veins were discovered by Moss in 1832. A splendid one of brown oxyd of iron, 6 feet thick, was laid open by Messrs. Fisher, and worked by them until William K. Smith purchased the land. He afterward sold to Messrs. Richards, of New York, who worked it twelve mouths and then sold it to a London (England) company at a large sum. Through the mismanagement of the agent it failed, after abortive efforts of two years. The agent was represented to us as having been an incompetent and worth- less man, who cared much more to spend the money of the company than to use it judicious- ly in developing the mine. The London com- pany sold it to the present owners, Messrs. Dabney, who own the west part (comprising 219 acres), and to Mr. Anderson the east part. Messrs. Turner, Hughes, and Co. are now opening a shaft on the west part, near where the best diggings were formerly worked, and which is represented in the adjoining sketch. While watching the negroes at work, lower- ing and drawing up their buckets full of the auriferous earth, we seized an opportunity of conversing with them. One of them, Bill, an evidently shrewd fellow, told us that while he was at work at the old mine, for the Fishers, he kept $2000 that he had found, and put it out to interest. This statement we afterward had the means of fully corroborating by a total- ly different channel of information. Being desirous of knowing what Bill was find- ing now, we put the question to him plump- ly, and were told that every month he could lay by his little egg-shell full of pickings. At that rate we could not exactly calculate how much pickings went to his co-workers, and how much of legitimate earnings to his employer; but the yield should be something handsome to admit that ratio of discount, whether in the way of picking or stealing. The Wailer Mine is, unquestionably, one of the richest in Virginia. The matrix of the gold there is decomposed suiphuret of iron and rotten quartz, and the vein is from one to twelve feet in thickness. No shaft has yet been sunk over 75 feet, and the best ore has always been found at the bottom of the shafts. The works have always hitherto been stopped on account of the appearance of water, as the proper ma- chinery for getting rid of it was lacking; and this may be said of almost every other similar past effort in Virginia. There is first-rate wa- ter-power on this place, and every ~pportunitv for rare and profitable mining operations. From Goochiand we proceeded westward, into the equally rich county of Fluvanna. Here we visited and examined minutely the fine gold mines of Moseby, Chalk Level, Fount- snAFT nmuvIxe, WALLER GOLD MINE. 36 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. am, Cox, Snead, ~nd the magnificent Telinri- There are 400 acres, of which about one half urn, spread out like a beautiful panorama, is in cultivation. That portion over the grais backed by the picturesque and bold outline of ite is used for pasture; that over the slate the Blue Ridge moisutains. What we found in fully one half the cultivated groundis bein~~ this county was but a repetition of what we constantly renewed and reinvigorated by the had seen in Goochland. Every where the pine- disintegration of the slate and limestone turned ticed eye of the geolo~ist and mineralogist could Up I)y the plow, and is thus kept very fertile. find unmistakable proofs of the boundless rich This is a very peculiar feature in this region of ness of the locality. country, farmers having assured us that, owing The Tellurium Mine stands foremost among to the fact just mentioned, each succeeding the valuable spots hitherto explored in this cropall other influences being equally favor- county. It contains about 330 acres, and was I ableproves more abundant than its forerun- discovered in 1834, at which time work upon it ne!~. A large stream runs throu~h the prop was commenced. Shafts were sunk, and ore erty, furnishing abundant water-power for any got out which yielded seven pennyweights, or ininiug operations. The road from the mh~e dollars, to the bushel. After the necessary to the millseat is not more than a quarter of machinery had been put up it yielded $100 a a mile, and is very easy of access. day from one single mill driven by water. It The abruntuess with which the granite strata belonged to Hughes, and was leased by Messrs. trends upon the metahhiferous strata and the Fisher, who worked it for fourteen years. In slate, in this locality, would lead one readily to 1848 it was sold to Commodore Stockton, who suppose that the metalhiferons strata had been worked it for eight or nine years, and is ic I forced between the granite and slate by some ported to have extracted from it not less than I strong volcanic action. The metalliferous strata 250,000. In sh)ite of this the real wealth of the dips from northeast to soutluvest, and bus an spot In s never been reached, as no shaft has angle toward the east, in descending, of about ever been sunk dccl) enough to get at the bed- fifteen degrees. There are three veins in the rock (the point at which the value of such a belt abeady discovered. The main vein pro- mine may be truly said to only commence), the jects above the soil about two feet, is about lowest hitherto sunk being probably not over four feet wide, and is composed of quartz of sixty feet. Already three parallel quartz veins white texture, quite bard containing argentif have been discovered rich in the purest gold. erous galena, copper snlphates, anti gold. The This property is situated eight miles from Cu- argentiferous galena will yield 35 dollars worth lumbia, on the Columbia Road. of silver to the ton of ore. The difficulty with The Snead Gold Mine is another very re- the miners here, as elsewhere, has been in their m~ rkahle place, deserving of specific mention, having no way of smelting the lead, silver, and It is situated some six miles from Columbia, on copper, and thus obtaining the gold. the Lynchbur~ turnpike. This farm is one of This mine was first worked in 1837, by the niost healthy and beautiful which we visit George Fisher, Jun., and Co. They workei~ ed in our whole trip. The springs in all parts with stamps, run by waterpower, till 1 850, and of it, except at the mine, flow from under gran- obtained from 70 to 75 dollars a day with very ite, guciss, or slate, and are very cold and pure. inefficient machinery. Tile mine has been nn~ saa~n GuLu MINE. THE NATURAL WEALTH OF VIRGINIA. 37 worked but very little since they left it, ow- ing to the inability of those who undertook it to separate the ores. Explorations have since then been made on this property, and developed even richer veins of these mixed ores. From Fluvanna we crossed the James River Canal, and pursued our journey throngh the renowned County of Buckingham. I apply that epithet to it, because it has always borne the character of being the richest mineral coun- ty in the State of Virginianot because it really possesses any more of the precious met- als than either of the other two I have de- scribed, but because its resources have hitherto had the good fortune of being more actively investigated and developed. More than one mine in this Stateforemost among them the Buckingham and London mineshave already achieved a world-wide reputation; but they are only indications of what exists elsewhere, per- haps in even greater abundance, in that and the adjoining counties. Among the mines we visited in Buckingham County were the Lightfoot, Bumpus, Ford, Hobson, Ayrcs, and the Duncan, or Apperson. A passing description of two or three of these will give an idea of the remainder. Fords Mine is situated about six miles from New Canton, a small village near the Slate River. It contains 350 acres, about 100 of which are in cultivation, the balance in timber, with a very valuable stream of water running through it. A gold vein was first discovered at this place at the end of 1835, and found ex- tremely rich. On shafting down only four or fIve feet they came to copper pyrites, also very rich, but which gave great trouble to separate, and caused a great loss of mercury, as they had no means of reducing the ore. The copper ore was, at that time, considered useless, and the mine was abandoned because there was so much of it they could not get the gold. Since that time there has been an attempt made by Messrs. Woodfin and Davis to shaft through solid rock, to strike the vein at anoth- er point. It was really worth a trip to the mine if only to see that attempt. They spent $3000, and never struck the vein at all; where- as, if they had tunneled on with the vein, with the same money they could have taken out at least from $10,000 to $20,000 worth of copper oreto say nothing of the gold. This vein is in a line with, and probably is only another outcropping of, the famous Lightfoot vein, which I shall presently describe. It is distant from it only about three-quarters of a mile. The Duncan (or Apperson) Gold Mine lies immediately contiguous to the celebrated Buck- ingham and London mines, and was owned for many years by parties who held it at an ex- orbitant price, and refused all applications to have it mined. Mr. Duncan worked on it, and, having found a very rich vein, tried hard to obtain a lease or sale, but did not succeed in either. It has since passed into the hands of a much more liberal owner. It has several large and very valuable veins on it, and is heavily covered with timber. The soil is poor and rocky. There is a stream, capable of turn- ing a mill, running along its east line. Sev- eral smaller streams run through the land. It is situated on the main road from New Canton to Buckingham Court House. The Lightfoot Mine is one of the oldest, most valuable, and celebrated in the State, and was in active operation at the outbreak of the ~var. It is situated on the north and east bank of Slate River, about six miles from New Can- ton, and contains 250 acres, about 50 of which are in cultivation. There are four ~well-known and very rich veins in this mine. Along a stream, at the east end of the property, there are evidences of ancient works; but whether for copper or gold is unknown, for they are both found in that vicinity in great abundance. In sinking holes ancient tools, crucibles, and other similar relics, of very singular form, were frequently found. The discovery of this place in later years was not due to accident but to the scientific deductions and explorations of Mr. George Fisher, Sen., now deceased, who, for over half a century, was known as one of the best prac- tical geologists and mineralogists of Virginia, if not of the whole United States. The death of this eminent and respected gen- tlemau was a great loss not only to his State but to the whole scientific world; and it is much to be regretted that he did not leave more notes behind him, as he had explored nearly the entire State, and knew every spot of value on its surface. Mr. Fisher worked this mine on lease for several years, during which tune he repeatedly tried to purchase it, but without success. After his lease expired it was successively worked by three different companies, who leased from the proprietor, Mr. Lightfoot. The most success- ful of these three made from $300 to $400 a day by stamp-crushing for golA, but got into a lawsuit about the division of the spoils, and ultimately concluded with a forfeiture of the lease. The next company possessed neither capital nor skill, and confined itself merely to surface-washing for gold. The last company devoted itself entirely to the development of the copper veins, and exported nearly 100 tons of ore, which were sold for 80 dollars a ton to a smelting - house in Baltimore. They were stopped by the war, and since then the mineral portion of this property has been perfectly idle. Their lease is now also forfeited. The copper mine on this place is very ex- tensive, close to Slate River, at the base of an abrupt bluff, and is quite easy of access by tun- neling or drifting. The copper ore is the gray carbonate, green carbonate, sulphate, and na- tive copper. It is mixed with iron pyrites. The Slate River furnishes immense water- power at this place, capable of driving almost 38 HARPER NE LONTIILY MAGA7JNE. any number of stamps. It is qi te ear to t e Arnela.A beautiful stone used by L pi- mines, and is easily accessible by boats. daries, called the Amelia pebble, is foun Let it not be supposed t at the foregoi g de- in this connty. A nip nr s ri g, known as scription, of only few isolate~ place visit d the Amelia Spring, possesses many valuable by the writer, is intende as a y elaborate por- me scinal properties. A qnantity of 1 mbago trayal of the mineral wealth of Virbi L. It is found in this county. en , on the contrary, be cons dere as nothing Am1~erst.Iron ore fon in a number of more th n the title-page of a won pen a sub- places. Copper foun in the vicinity of the ject that is literally exhaustless; a mero si a- James iver canal. post to direct those who m~ y be interested to Apposeettox.iron ore a limesto ab ud- here they can fin the most ahu dant eld ant in t~ e northern side of the county. or their researches an enterprise. The ~riter Augustu.Iron ore found in almost every has attel ptc to dive some idea of the richness part of this county. Co~ 1 h~ bee 1isco ured of o~ ly three counties w deb he visite out of at sever~ 1 points on the northwestern side. a aggregate of sot e fty or i ty scattered Limestone ebeunds every where a of e cry over the face of Virgini , nearly all of which vanietj. The blue is qi arried in regular ontain more or less mineral wealth in every square masses that do not require t e hammer. conceivable variety. To give some a equate Marble is fo ud in several p~ rts of the county. ide~ of the enormous collective wealth which Some copper is fo nd in the northwestern part. actually exists, the following rough summary is N mereus sulphur an chalybeate sprin ~s exist. condensed fro ~ a valuable statement prey ared Bothlion ore in many parts of the count~ by Major J. M. MCi e, an presente to the nd of goo qu~ lity. Among the varietb~s is Virginia Leislature in 1851; clas:ifying al- the magnetic. Limestone abundant Grind- phabetically ninny of the counties of the 01 stone of e~ cellent qi~ ality ad abundant. fin- Dominion, with the kin of minerals which, eral sp ings of every description: hot, warm, even at that ate, they we ~e well known to cold, s siphur, chalybeate, alum, and copperas. ontain. Bedfe d.Iron ore abund~ nt and of goo~ Albeoserle.IrOn ore is foun in some parts quality. Fi water-power en se oral sticams. of the co nty; abundance of limestone; fine ~ulph~ to of barytes also found. Kaolin granite and roofing slat i great qua tities on suit~ ble for china wareplentiful. Granite the ~ivanna~pIumbagO, of gOO quality, o plain n rose-coloredof the finest nality, the line of the Scottsville plc k- end. ha dant. Limesto se is foun at two point Allegheuy.IrOn ore of 11 kind an in on the Lynchb srg a d Tennessee railroad. great ~bundance. Limestone aba dant, with ]3erlceley.IrOn ore exists in abundance. the hydraulic variety. Anthr~ cite coal fon d to us e extent. Lime- r aOTOOTMt~ THE NATURAL WEALTh OF VIRGINIA. 39 stone abundant, and admits of a polish equal to marble. Plenty of sandstone, suitable for building, and easily worked. Numerous sub phur and chalybeate springs. Botetourt.Iron ore, of every variety and in great abundance, in all parts of tbe county. Limestone every where. Excellent sandstone abundant. Brunswick.A gray rock found, susceptible of dressing. An abundant supply of the finest soap-stone. Buckingham.Gold found in the quartz in greater abundance than in any other county of the State. Iron ore abundant in the north- eastern part. RoQfing slate, of the finest quality and in profusion, on Slate River. Lime- stone and a coarse sandstone, suitable for build- ing. Sulphur and chalybeate springs. Campbell.Iron ore found in various parts of the county. A large vein of limestone ex- tends across the whole county. Carroll.Iron ore, abundant and of excel- lent quality, in every part of the county; among the varieties is the magnetic. Copper ore and alum also found. Mineral springs abund- ant. Fire-clay of a fine quality and soap-stone are both abundant. C?~esterfield.Bituminous coal underlies the western part of the county. Granite of the finest quality is found in almost every part of the county. Culpepper.Gold found in the southeastern part of the county. Copper discovered six miles east of the court-house. Limestone ex- tends in one continuous vein through the north- eastern and southwestern parts. Roofing slate abundant. Fauquier. Gold in considerable quantity found in the lower end of this county. Sul- phate of barytes found and worked in the south- eastern part. Extensive quarries of fine roof- ing-slate on the Rappahannock. Limestone, granite, and sandstone abundant. Fluvanna.Iron ore abundant. Gold also in abundance. Limestone found in the west- ern part, and granite along the Rivanna. Franklin.Iron ore abundant and of good quality. Some limestone. Frec4vick.Iron ore in western and south- western parts of the county. Limestone abund- ant. Manganese found in large quantities. Giles.Iron ore and limestone abundant. Goochland.Gold found in as great profu- sion as in Buckingham in various parts of this county, and frequently worked to profit. Iron, copper, and silver also found in abundance. Several coal and coke mines in the lower end of the county. Grayson.Iron ore is found here in great profusion, and so pure that it can be worked in a smiths fire without the necessity of bloom- ery. The finest sandstone and soap - stone found in abundance, the latter exceedingly val- uable for its power of resistance to fire, and the facility with which it can be used. It can be dressed, with a common axe and jack-plane, into mantles, slabs, etc. Fire - clay of best quality is abundant. Emery has also been found in abundance. Green. Near the Blue Ridge copper has been found in considerable quantities. Ha4fax.Iron ore of fine quality is found near the Pittsylvania line. Plumbago of finest quality found within eight miles of the court- house. Ilanover.Iron ore is found. Indications of coal in several parts of the county. Granite exists of the finest quality; also a large quan- tity of beautiful sandstone, easily polished. Henrico.Bituminous coal underlies a large part of the county. Granite found in abund- ance and of fine quality. Lee.Iron ore found in several places. Stone coal abundant. Limestone plentiful. Loudon.Iron ore and limestone abundant in the northeastern portion. Lonisa.Iron ore abundant and of good qual- ity. Gold abundant, and profitably worked. Madison.Copper ore found in abundance in several parts of the county. The ore con- tains 80 per cent. of pure copper. Miontgomerg. Semi-bituminous coal found in great quantities in several parts of the coun- ty. Iron ore in abundance. Lead ore and white marble also found. Nelson.Iron ore found in several portions of this county. Lead ore of the richest quali- ty, and containing 8 per cent. of silver, is found in great abundance near Fabers mills, within a few miles of the canal. Orange. Gold found in great abundance. Several companies engaged in working it. Limestone and marble also found in this coun- ty. Page.Iron ore of fine quality abundant in every part of this county. Some copper of rich quality found in the lower portion. Lime- stone and blue marble plentiful; also grind- stones of excellent quality. Patrick. Iron ore of the finest quality abundant. Lead ore has been found, but nev- er worked. Silver ore found in the southern portion. Granite and sandstone of good qual- ity exist. Several sulphur springs are found. Pittsylvania. Iron ore abundant in the northwestern and southern parts of the county. Anthracite coal found along the North Caro- lina border. Plumbago has been discovered on the line of the Richmond and Danville Rail- road. Limestone is abundant in the north- western part of the county. White marble and sandstone exist. Powhatan. Iron ore is abundant in this county. Coal underlies a great part of the county near James River, and is mined profit- ably. Plumbago is found two miles from the Appomattox. Sulphur and chalybeate springs exist in this county. Richmond Cit11. Granite of finest quality found in profusion within (and near) the cor- porate limits. Marl has been found in consid- erable quantities. On the spot now occupied 40 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. by the Whig office a large deposit exists; also on Council Chaniber Hill, and in the ravines north of Governor Street. .Roanoke.Limestone and sandstone abund- ant. Bockbridge. Iron ore of excellent quality and in great abundance in several parts of the county. Limestone covers this county through nearly its whole extent. Several varieties of marble have been found, some of which are very beautiful. Quartz of a rich color is also found. Rockbridge is noted for its hydraulic eement, made at Balcony Falls. Rockingkam.This county abounds in lime- stone and marble, including the variegated, much of which has been worked, and is suscep- tible of a high polish. Iron ore is found in considerable quantity in the upper and lower ends of the county. Copper is found in the vicinity of the Blue Ridge. Russell.Iron ore is found in the northern part of the county. Coal is abundant in the northwest. Both plain and variegated marble are found here. Limestone abundant. Soap- stone and sandstone also found. Scott.Iron ore, limestone, and sandstone abundant. Saltpetre is found in the caves which abound here. Epsorn salts, too, are found, and used by the physicians of the coun- ty. Copperas has also been found. A red stoneremarkable for its resistance of fireis abundant. Sulphur and chalybeate springs are numerous. ShenandoalLIron ore of every variety and in great abundance; also manganese. Cop- per has been found in considerable quantity. Limestone, marble, lead ore, and coal are also among the mineral resources of this county. Srn,yth.Iron ore abundant. Salt in great abundance. Gypsum of finest quality in inex- haustible quantity. Limestone in great abund- ance; also sandstone, burr-stone, and grind- stone. Spottsylcania.Iron ore is found in consid- erable quantities in the western part of this county. Gold to some extent. White free- stone is found near Fredericksburg. Stafford.Iron ore found to some extent. A number of gold mines exist in this county. Granite is abundant, and the beautiful free- stone with which the principal public buildings in Washington are built was obtained from the Stafford quarries. Taz ell.Iron ore of fine quality abundant; also lead, coal, and limestone. Washington.Salt, gypsum, iron ore, lime- stone abundant. Sulphate of barytes, flint crystals, traverstone (which resembles alabas- ter), and manganese are found in the southern part of the county. W11the.Blue ore (sulphuret of lead) and red ore (carbonate of lead) are foundin great quan- tities twelve miles southwest of the court-house. Every variety of iron ore is found in this coun- ty in inexhaustible quantity. Manganese is abundant. The first thing that strikes the attentive trav- eler in any of these highly-favored regions is the utter paralysis which seems to have over- taken every thing; the dolcc-far-niente sort of existence which intelligent people were content to pass among scenes and resources that are cal- culated to fire the energies and ambition of any race of men accustomed to active human labor, and interested in human progress. It is, of course, not fair to criticise those portions so recently overrun by the war; but even in those places which escaped the dreadful visitation the same lack of all progressive energy is dis- cernible. Broken-down and dilapidated fences, unhinged gates, roads le~ to the destructive action of every sweeping torrent, leaky piazzas open to the eruption of every passing shower, rotten or imperfect bridges, leaving the trav- eler weather-bound on the edge of some sud- denly swollen and impassable creek, are to be met with every where, and are only in keeping with that listlessness that could have been con- tentthrough so long a periodto neglect the wonderful resources so prodigally lavished by Nature. We came to streams so strongly impregnated with copperas (sulphate of iron) and the more valuable material known as blue-stone (sul- phate of copper), that the people catch the wa- ter, as it bubbles from the rock, boil it and dye stuffs in it; and yet no commercial value has been hitherto extracted from such a treasure. We passed through territories as rich in gold, silver, and copper as any thing that Califor- nia can boast; and yet there we found mines abandoned just at the very point where, among more enterprising communities, they are con- sidered to be but commencing to yield in earn- est. But few mines in Virginia have ever been shafted or tunneled to a greater depth than 70 or 80 feet; while in young and vigorous Cali- fornia they have already gone to a depth of over 1000 feet in the solid rock. Indeed, as the wealth of a mine is usually found to increase in ratio to its depth, there seems to be no actual limit to the extent of delving into the treasure-bearing rock. In the silver mines of Mexico they have gone over 1650 feet; the tin and copper mines of Cornwall, England, as well as the silver mines of Norway, Saxony, and Hungary, are already sunk to a depth of over 1800 feet; while there are mines in Germany which have reached even 2600 feet. There is but one explanation of the lethargy hitherto existing in Virginia, and that is, the former existence of slavery. The slave-owner, living upon his magnificent estate, surrounded by numbers of slaves who administered to his extremest luxury, stood in no need whatever of the superabundant treasure which was known to be beneath his very feet, and which could only be obtained by labor. The enterprising man from the North, who would gladly have set to work and extracted this wealth from the earth, had no desire to venture for it where slavery existed, and would have found but few THE NATURAL WEALTH OF VIRGINIA. 41 facilities thrown in his way if he did. Thus the wealth of Virginia remained, and would forever have remained, undeveloped, but for the entire change brought on by the was. But her secrets are now being revealed to the world her people now need that aid from Northern capital and enterprise which many of them once indignantly spurnedthe doors of commerce and immigration stand wide open and inviting, and it will not now be long before the grand Old Dominion will reap the full measure of that prosperity for which she was designed by heaven. Had she nothing but mineral wealth to of- fer Virginia would still be one of the most tempting spots on the globe to industrious and intelligent emigrants; but her mineral re- sources form but a portionand by no means the largestof the countless inducements she can hold out to immigration. When we consid- er her geographical position, her beautiful cli- mate, her contiguity to all the great markets of the Atlantic sea-board, the vast amount of water-power created by her numerous naviga- ble rivers and streams, her immense mineral and agricultural resources, it is questionable if there be a single State in the length and breadth of the whole Union which possesses so many and such varied attractions. Virginia is still, notwithstanding her late dis- memberment, one of the very largest States in the Union. Her population before the war was, of whites, only fifteen persons to the square mile, and, of blacks, only seven; mak- ing a total population of twenty-two to the square mile. In the adjoining free States of the Atlantic coast, in themselves far less in- viting to settlers, the population, over an equal area, is eighty-two persons to the square mile. This simple statement discloses how large a portion of the soil of Virginia is unused and waste; and when we consider the wide-spread destruction of property which the war has pro- ducedproperty whieh must he restored by a considerable outlay of money before those lands can be tilled to advantagewe can readily im- agine how very large a proportion of the lands of the Commonwealth ought to, and doubtless will, be thrown upon the market. No State possesses greater facilities for trans- portation. At present the tide of emigration flows to the West. Lands in the Trans-Mis- sissippi now receive the surplus populations of the crowded Old World and the already over- flowing North. Any of those Western lands would be dear as a gift compared with the lands of Virginia, when consideration is taken of the long, tedious, and expensive transporta- tion which their products must undergo before reaching the great marts on the Atlantic sea- board. What a contrast, in this respect, do the lands of Virginia present! That territory is traversed by several great rivers, such as the James, Rappahannock, and York, and count- less navigable streams (any one of which would be considered a respectable river in some parts of Europe), all of which naturally place the pro- ducts of the State at the very wharves of New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. There is scarcely a farm in tide-water Virginia the trans- portation of the products of which to New York costs an appreciahle percentage of the prices they bring. Piedmont, Virginia, is trav- ersed throughout by rivers, railroads, and a canal, which enable its products to reach mark- et at a minimum cost for freight. The geographical position of Virginia is most remarkable, and few realize it until they care- fully examine a map of the United States. It is nearer from St. Louis to Norfolk, Virginia, than from St. Louis to New Orleans. It is nearer, by several hundred miles, from Cincin- nati to Norfolk than from Cincinnati to New York. The shortest pathway from the great basin of the West to tide-water lies directly across the State of Virginia by a route which the frosts and snows of winter never blockade. Across this route lies the extension of the Pa- cific Railroad, in a straight line, to the Atlan- tic. The vital importance of this route of exit for the West is becoming more and more man- ifest every day. The lake cities, Chicago at their head, are taking away the trade of Cin- cinnati, Louisville, and St. Louis by reason of their lying on the great water-line of trans.- portation, leading through the great lakes and over the New York and Erie CanaL These central cities must and will open a short route for themselves to the Atlantic, and that route lies directly across the territory of Virginia. Its advantage of distance will give it a great preferepee over the circuitous route of the lakes and the New York and Erie Canal. The val- ley of the Ohio and the States of Missouri, Kansas, and all the great central belt of coun- try running back to the Rocky Mountains will soon be at the door of Congress demanding ap- propriations for opening this short cut through Virginia, by canal and rail, to the Atlantic. This grand desideratum is already far on the road toward completion by means of the Vir- ginia Central Railroad, the Covington and Ohio Railroad, and the James River and Kanawha CanaL This last plays so important a rc$le in the commercial facilities of the State as to deserve special notice. It is the enterprise of a Com- pany known as the James River and Kanawha Company; but, with a trifling exception, the means it has employed have been derived alto- gether from the treasury of the State. It has title for the whole line of proposed improve- ments from the mouth of the great Kanawha to Richmond. Two hundred miles of its canal is completed and in operation to Buchanan, in Botetourt County. Much work has been done beyond, as far as Covington, in Alleghany County. At the other end of the line naviga- tion is open for steamboats to the great falls, and has been greatly improved by the expendi- tures of the Company. The extension of steam- boat navigation is practicable still further, at 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. moderate cost; after which navigation for ca- nal boats can readily be perfected, by lock and dam, to a point on the Green Brier, thirty-four miles from Covington. The completion of the water-line over this portage would be a work of time and cost, but easily within reach of an appropriation from the Federal treasury. Among the many places on the James River and Kanawba Canal, which are likely to grow with the development of the mineral and other resources of Central Virginia, one of the most promising is Columbia, which forms the natu- ral outlet for all the rich mineral products, de- scribed before, in the counties of Goochland, Fluvanna, and Buckiugham. It is at present nothing bnt a small and unpretending but pic- turesque village, perched on the border of the canal, and possessing fine water-power and splendid stone quarries. It is situated about fifty miles distant from Richmond. Of the mineral productions of Virginia this article has already treated at some length; but quite as much might be said of her agricultur- al. 11cr wheat is considered the very finest in the world. In 1860, out of an aggregate of 173,101,924 bushels of this cereal, produced in all the States and Territories, she yielded 13,130,977 bushels. Out of an aggregate of 838,792,740 bushels of Indian corn she pro- duced 38,319,999 bushels. The whole amount of tobacco raised in all the States and Territo- ries, in 1860, was 434,209,481 pounds. Of this amount Virginia produced 123,968,312 pounds, and Kentucky 108,126,849 poundsthese two States together producing more than half of all the tobacco grown in the Union. The cot- ton raised upon the soil of Virginia, though not cultivated to any great extent, is of the most excellent character. In the valley of the James are lands quite as good for the culture of the grape as any to be found in Ohio or Cal- iforsila, while her grazing pasturesconsider- ing her advantages of climate, which allow her cattle to roam abroad whole months after they have to be carefully housed in the inclement Northare among the finest in the United States, not even excepting Texas. The climate of Virginia is a grand feature in her flivor. It is unquestionably the very best on the American continent, and may safe- ly challenge comparison with any in the world. The longevity of her inhabitants, white and black, is the best test, and is proverbial. The comparative antiquity of her settlement, ac- companied by the natural advantages of her geographical position, render her free from all those malarial influences so common in more newly-settled districts of the great Westa question of very great interest to any emigrant in search of a new home. The winters are mild, enabling all kinds of live-stock to be cheaply maintained throughout the season; the summers long enough to mature all crops net essentially tropical; the springs very early, bringing forward succulents much sooner than in the States northward; and the autumns even more delightful and beautiful than the same season in Italy. 0 VIEW OF cOLUMaIA, FaUvANNA COUNTY. THE ROYAL PORTRAITS. 43 THE ROYAL PORTRAITS. In a palace of Germanyfrom the windows of which you can look out and descry, white in the purple distance, the village in which Schiller was bornhang the pictnres of a former king and queen of that country. To the writer, standing between the two portraits, where they face each other from opposite walls, a German friend half recounted half hinted the tragedy which iq the following verses has loosely settled into form L CONFRONTING each other the pictures stare Into each others sleepless eyes; And the daylight into the darkness dies From year to year in the palace there: But they watch and guard that no device Take either one of them unaware. Their majesties the king and the queen, The parents of the reigning prince: Both put off royalty many years since, With life and the gifts that have always been Given to kings from God, to evince His sense of the mighty over the mean. I can not say that I like the face Of the king it is something fat and red; And the neck that lifts the royal head Is thick and coarse, and a scanty grace Dwells in the dull blue eyes that are laid Sullenly on the queen in her place. He must have been a king in his day Twere well to pleasure in work and sport: One of the heaven-anointed sort Who ruled his people with iron sway, And knew that, through good and evil report, God meant him to rule and them to obey. The queen died first, the queen died young, But the king was very old when he died, Rotten with license, and lust, and pride; And the usual Virtues came and hung Their cypress wreaths on his tomb, and wid~ Throughout his kingdom his praise was sung. How the queen died is not certainly known, And faithful subjects are all forbid To speak of the murder which some one did One night while she slept in the dark alone: History keeps the story hid, And Fear only tells it in undertone. How the queen died is not certainly known; But in the palaces solitude A harking dread and horror brood, And a silence, as if a mortal groan Had been hushed the moment before, and would Break forth again when you were gone. The present king has never dwelt In the desolate palace. From year to year In the wide and stately garden drear The snows, and the snowy blossoms melt Unheeded, and a ghastly fear Through all the shivering leaves is felt. By night the gathering shadows creep Along the dusk and hollow halls, And the slumber-broken palace calls With stifled moans from its nightmare sleep; And then the ghostly moonlight falls Athwart the darkness brown and deep. There are many other likenesses Of the king in his royal palace; You find him depicted every where- In his robes of state, in his hunting-dress, In his flowing wig, in his powdered hair A king in all of them, none the less; But most himself in this on the wall Over against his consort, whose Laces, and hoops, and high-heeled shoes Make her the finest lady of all The queens or courtly dames you choose, In the ancestral portrait hall. A glorious blonde: a luxury Of luring blue and wanton gold, Of blanchdd rose and crimson bold, Of lines that flow voluptuously In tender, languorous curves to fold her form in perfect symmetry. She might have been false. Of her withered dust There scarcely would be enough to write Her guilt in now; and the dead have a right To our lenient doubt if not to our trust: So if the truth can not make her white, Let us be as merciful as wemust. I. Up from your startled feet aloof, In the famous Echo-Room, with a bound Leaps the echo, and round and round Beating itself against the roof, A horrible, gasping, shuddering sound Dies ere its terror can utter proof Of that it knows. A door is fast, And none is suffered to enter there. His sacred majesty could not bear To look at it toward the last, As he grew very old. It opened where The queen died young so many years past. IlL At early dawn the light wind sighs, And through the desert garden blows The wasted sweetness of the rose; At noon the feverish sunshine lies Sick in the walks. But at evenings close, When the last, long rays to the windows rise, And with many a blood-red, wrathful streak Pierce through the twilight glooms that blur His cruel vigilance and her Regard, they light fierce looks that wreak A hopeless hate that can not stir, A voiceless hate that can not speak In the awful calm of the sleepless eyes; And as if she saw her murderer glare On her face, and he the white despair Of his victim kindle in wild surmise, Confronted the conscious pictures stare And their secret back into darkness dies.

W. D. Howells Howells, W. D. The Royal Portraits 43-44

THE ROYAL PORTRAITS. 43 THE ROYAL PORTRAITS. In a palace of Germanyfrom the windows of which you can look out and descry, white in the purple distance, the village in which Schiller was bornhang the pictnres of a former king and queen of that country. To the writer, standing between the two portraits, where they face each other from opposite walls, a German friend half recounted half hinted the tragedy which iq the following verses has loosely settled into form L CONFRONTING each other the pictures stare Into each others sleepless eyes; And the daylight into the darkness dies From year to year in the palace there: But they watch and guard that no device Take either one of them unaware. Their majesties the king and the queen, The parents of the reigning prince: Both put off royalty many years since, With life and the gifts that have always been Given to kings from God, to evince His sense of the mighty over the mean. I can not say that I like the face Of the king it is something fat and red; And the neck that lifts the royal head Is thick and coarse, and a scanty grace Dwells in the dull blue eyes that are laid Sullenly on the queen in her place. He must have been a king in his day Twere well to pleasure in work and sport: One of the heaven-anointed sort Who ruled his people with iron sway, And knew that, through good and evil report, God meant him to rule and them to obey. The queen died first, the queen died young, But the king was very old when he died, Rotten with license, and lust, and pride; And the usual Virtues came and hung Their cypress wreaths on his tomb, and wid~ Throughout his kingdom his praise was sung. How the queen died is not certainly known, And faithful subjects are all forbid To speak of the murder which some one did One night while she slept in the dark alone: History keeps the story hid, And Fear only tells it in undertone. How the queen died is not certainly known; But in the palaces solitude A harking dread and horror brood, And a silence, as if a mortal groan Had been hushed the moment before, and would Break forth again when you were gone. The present king has never dwelt In the desolate palace. From year to year In the wide and stately garden drear The snows, and the snowy blossoms melt Unheeded, and a ghastly fear Through all the shivering leaves is felt. By night the gathering shadows creep Along the dusk and hollow halls, And the slumber-broken palace calls With stifled moans from its nightmare sleep; And then the ghostly moonlight falls Athwart the darkness brown and deep. There are many other likenesses Of the king in his royal palace; You find him depicted every where- In his robes of state, in his hunting-dress, In his flowing wig, in his powdered hair A king in all of them, none the less; But most himself in this on the wall Over against his consort, whose Laces, and hoops, and high-heeled shoes Make her the finest lady of all The queens or courtly dames you choose, In the ancestral portrait hall. A glorious blonde: a luxury Of luring blue and wanton gold, Of blanchdd rose and crimson bold, Of lines that flow voluptuously In tender, languorous curves to fold her form in perfect symmetry. She might have been false. Of her withered dust There scarcely would be enough to write Her guilt in now; and the dead have a right To our lenient doubt if not to our trust: So if the truth can not make her white, Let us be as merciful as wemust. I. Up from your startled feet aloof, In the famous Echo-Room, with a bound Leaps the echo, and round and round Beating itself against the roof, A horrible, gasping, shuddering sound Dies ere its terror can utter proof Of that it knows. A door is fast, And none is suffered to enter there. His sacred majesty could not bear To look at it toward the last, As he grew very old. It opened where The queen died young so many years past. IlL At early dawn the light wind sighs, And through the desert garden blows The wasted sweetness of the rose; At noon the feverish sunshine lies Sick in the walks. But at evenings close, When the last, long rays to the windows rise, And with many a blood-red, wrathful streak Pierce through the twilight glooms that blur His cruel vigilance and her Regard, they light fierce looks that wreak A hopeless hate that can not stir, A voiceless hate that can not speak In the awful calm of the sleepless eyes; And as if she saw her murderer glare On her face, and he the white despair Of his victim kindle in wild surmise, Confronted the conscious pictures stare And their secret back into darkness dies. 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AND LAST: A RETROSPECT. afternoon at my lot. I got up, I remember, FIRST and looked in the little glass which hung over J FELT very tired of my lot in life, that long my toilet-table. The face I saw there was cer- I June afternoon, which I remember so well. tainly beautiful. There is no vanity, I am I remember it because, on looking back, it al- sure, in rememberingnow that the bright tints ways seems as if that afternoon were the begin- have all faded, now that my eyes are dim, and ning of all actual experience for me. Before my hair is flecked with silver instead of gold that I had been contented cnough with every all that young wealth of bloom and brilliance. day as it came. I hardly know why such a I hold that beauty is one of Gods good gifts, mood of restless dissatisfaction took possession which we are as much bound to recognize and of me then. Perhaps it was because I had heard be thankful for as for our daily bread: But I that Squire Esterleys family had just come to was not thankful that day. With a sullen re- town. They had been a good while ia Europe. pining at my heart I watched the face I saw in I had not seen them since I was fourteen. the mirror. I ~vas prettier, I knew, than either When we parted May Esterley and I had kissed of the Esterleys, but what good would it do me? each other good-by like sisters. But I thought Fine feathers make fine birds, I said, bit- it would all be different now. An unexpected terly, and my feathers are not fine. fortune had descended to them from some En- Then I looked around my homely, comfort- glish relative, just before they went away, mak- able little room. How delighted I had been ing them very rich. Naturally they had gone six years ago with that chest of drawers which abroad to see about their new possessions, and marked the time when mother began to think being there had lingered on for three years, me old enough to take care of my own clothes! until pretty May Esterley and her sisters were how jubilant over that rocking chair which young ladies. We had heard of them back father had brought home to me from an auction again last fallestablished in a handsome house sale! Every article there signified some ten- in New Yorkand all the spring past workmen der memory on the part of one or the other of had been busy making of the old Esterley place my parents of their only child, and over every a summer residence befitting the present grand- one I had been girlishly glad and gay. Now, eur of the family fortunes. how common and hateful they all were in my From my western window, wherel sat screened sight !the rag carpet on the floor, the wooden by green vines from the hot afternoon sun, I chairs, the looking-glass framed in a narrow could look pver to the great house on the hill. moulding of painted wood. Down stairs, I It had been a good, roomy, old-fashioned house knew, work was steadily going on. Father was before; but now a wing had been thrown out busy in the garden. Mother was making ready here, and a piazza there, and it looked very for supper. I ought to be helping her, but I stately and imposing. Up to it led a broad, did not move. I just sat still, and coiitrasted circular carriage drive, strewn with some sort over aiid over again the homely surroundings of glittering white gravel, and flashing in the of my work-a-day lot with the Esterley splen- sunshine. The field east of the house had been dors, and wished that I had been born to bet- turned into a green lawn, dotted here and there ter fortunes. with round beds of gayly-colored flowers. Un- Once a thought of John Colman crossed my der the trees hammocks were swung; rustic mind, and I believe I shrank from it with yet seats, here and there, invited you to rest; the more of repugnance than frem the rag carpet whole place was so evidently fitted up for ease and ~vooden chairs. John was a farmer, and and elegance and luxurious pleasure, that, I sup- would never be any thing elsewould never pose, the contrast it offered to the plain and care to be. His father and mother were both homely details of farm-life, with which I had dead, and the farm he tilled was his own. It always been surrounded, was too much for me. joined ours on the east, and I knew my parents I could have borne it better, perhaps, if while had noticed Johns liking for me with satisfac- I watched a handsome open carriage had not tion, and had fancied what a pleasant thing it bowled by containing the three Miss Esterleys would be to have me settled down there, just and their brother Tom. The girls were dressed beside them. Between John and sne,however, in delicate muslins, with bright ribbons and nothing had ever been said about love or mar- soft laces, daintily gloved hands, and such boa- riage. He was slow and persistent by nature nets as Sayville had never looked upon before. always ready to wait till the right time came. They drove home, and after the carriage had I believe that waiting and hoping had a certain beeii sent away I could see them walking about, sweetness for him which he would not have cared their light dresses fluttering here and there in to forego. Only a week since he had brought the grounds. me a bunch of June roses, and I had taken thieni Middle-aged woman as I am nowknowing with shy pleasure. If he had spoken then I well how short this travel of life isfeeling that should have promised to marry him, probably. our great concern is with the end of the journey, Now, with my new views of life, my perceptions not ~vith the thorns or the flowers that grow quickened and illuminated by the Esterleygrand- along the highwayI look back with a strange cur, I drew a ion g breath of relief and self-con- pity at my eighteen-years-old self, and the hot gratulation at the thought that I was perfectly disgust that swept over my soul that summer free from John Colman. I dont know what I

Louise Chandler Moulton Moulton, Louise Chandler First and Last 44-51

44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AND LAST: A RETROSPECT. afternoon at my lot. I got up, I remember, FIRST and looked in the little glass which hung over J FELT very tired of my lot in life, that long my toilet-table. The face I saw there was cer- I June afternoon, which I remember so well. tainly beautiful. There is no vanity, I am I remember it because, on looking back, it al- sure, in rememberingnow that the bright tints ways seems as if that afternoon were the begin- have all faded, now that my eyes are dim, and ning of all actual experience for me. Before my hair is flecked with silver instead of gold that I had been contented cnough with every all that young wealth of bloom and brilliance. day as it came. I hardly know why such a I hold that beauty is one of Gods good gifts, mood of restless dissatisfaction took possession which we are as much bound to recognize and of me then. Perhaps it was because I had heard be thankful for as for our daily bread: But I that Squire Esterleys family had just come to was not thankful that day. With a sullen re- town. They had been a good while ia Europe. pining at my heart I watched the face I saw in I had not seen them since I was fourteen. the mirror. I ~vas prettier, I knew, than either When we parted May Esterley and I had kissed of the Esterleys, but what good would it do me? each other good-by like sisters. But I thought Fine feathers make fine birds, I said, bit- it would all be different now. An unexpected terly, and my feathers are not fine. fortune had descended to them from some En- Then I looked around my homely, comfort- glish relative, just before they went away, mak- able little room. How delighted I had been ing them very rich. Naturally they had gone six years ago with that chest of drawers which abroad to see about their new possessions, and marked the time when mother began to think being there had lingered on for three years, me old enough to take care of my own clothes! until pretty May Esterley and her sisters were how jubilant over that rocking chair which young ladies. We had heard of them back father had brought home to me from an auction again last fallestablished in a handsome house sale! Every article there signified some ten- in New Yorkand all the spring past workmen der memory on the part of one or the other of had been busy making of the old Esterley place my parents of their only child, and over every a summer residence befitting the present grand- one I had been girlishly glad and gay. Now, eur of the family fortunes. how common and hateful they all were in my From my western window, wherel sat screened sight !the rag carpet on the floor, the wooden by green vines from the hot afternoon sun, I chairs, the looking-glass framed in a narrow could look pver to the great house on the hill. moulding of painted wood. Down stairs, I It had been a good, roomy, old-fashioned house knew, work was steadily going on. Father was before; but now a wing had been thrown out busy in the garden. Mother was making ready here, and a piazza there, and it looked very for supper. I ought to be helping her, but I stately and imposing. Up to it led a broad, did not move. I just sat still, and coiitrasted circular carriage drive, strewn with some sort over aiid over again the homely surroundings of glittering white gravel, and flashing in the of my work-a-day lot with the Esterley splen- sunshine. The field east of the house had been dors, and wished that I had been born to bet- turned into a green lawn, dotted here and there ter fortunes. with round beds of gayly-colored flowers. Un- Once a thought of John Colman crossed my der the trees hammocks were swung; rustic mind, and I believe I shrank from it with yet seats, here and there, invited you to rest; the more of repugnance than frem the rag carpet whole place was so evidently fitted up for ease and ~vooden chairs. John was a farmer, and and elegance and luxurious pleasure, that, I sup- would never be any thing elsewould never pose, the contrast it offered to the plain and care to be. His father and mother were both homely details of farm-life, with which I had dead, and the farm he tilled was his own. It always been surrounded, was too much for me. joined ours on the east, and I knew my parents I could have borne it better, perhaps, if while had noticed Johns liking for me with satisfac- I watched a handsome open carriage had not tion, and had fancied what a pleasant thing it bowled by containing the three Miss Esterleys would be to have me settled down there, just and their brother Tom. The girls were dressed beside them. Between John and sne,however, in delicate muslins, with bright ribbons and nothing had ever been said about love or mar- soft laces, daintily gloved hands, and such boa- riage. He was slow and persistent by nature nets as Sayville had never looked upon before. always ready to wait till the right time came. They drove home, and after the carriage had I believe that waiting and hoping had a certain beeii sent away I could see them walking about, sweetness for him which he would not have cared their light dresses fluttering here and there in to forego. Only a week since he had brought the grounds. me a bunch of June roses, and I had taken thieni Middle-aged woman as I am nowknowing with shy pleasure. If he had spoken then I well how short this travel of life isfeeling that should have promised to marry him, probably. our great concern is with the end of the journey, Now, with my new views of life, my perceptions not ~vith the thorns or the flowers that grow quickened and illuminated by the Esterleygrand- along the highwayI look back with a strange cur, I drew a ion g breath of relief and self-con- pity at my eighteen-years-old self, and the hot gratulation at the thought that I was perfectly disgust that swept over my soul that summer free from John Colman. I dont know what I FIRST AND LAST: A RETROSPECT. 45 hopedhow .1 expected to change my prospects; but something must turn up, I felt. At any rate, not of my own accord would I bind my- self down to the homely details of a life like the present. Frances, called my mothers kind voice at the foot of the stairs, come, child; suppers all ready. I went down stairs slowly. Oh, what would I give now to see again that room, and that dear mother, just as they were then! But at the time I felt no charm. Every thing looked so dull and homely. Yet all was spotlessly neat. The rag carpet was cleanly swept, and through the open doors and windows came in the fragrance of the June roses all in bloom. Father and mother were at the table. Mother looked tired and a little flushed, hut she smiled when I opened the door, as you have seen mo- thers smile, perhaps, on only children. Come, Frank, she said, Ive got some- thing youll like. Father brought in a pail of strawberries, and Ive made a strawberry short- cake. I thought I wouldnt call you to help me because it would taste better if you didnt see it beforehand. I glanced at the table. The cloth was not fine damask, but it was clean and white. Every thing was neat and orderly. But to my jaun- diced vision it all looked common and plain and uninviting. I could weep now, when tears would be vain, to think how churlish and ungrateful I was. I ate a little of the cake, but I did not praise it, and I felt that mothers disappoint- ment was to be seen on her face, though I would not look at her. After supper I began to clear off the table, but I moved round with a slow, reluctant step, and an intense hatred of dish-water and drudg- ery. Are you tired, Frances ? My mothers voice had a tender anxious tone in it which would have touched me if my discontent had not lain too deep to be easily exorcised. No, Im not tired. Or sick ? she pursued, puzzled probably by my unusual manner. No, I cried, impatiently, Im not sick, or tired of any thing but my life. I hate this dull, endless round of cooking and eating, dish-cloths and dusters. Ill do up the work to-night, Frank, she said, gently. No, Id rather. Its not to-nights work that I mind, but the whole thing. Theres no grace or charm to a farmers life, any way. It isnt what I was made for, I know. Would God have p~rt you in the midst of it then, my dear? If it is the station in life to which it has pleased Him to call you, it must be the right place, I think. I did not answer. I could not reason about it, but I felt it would take something more than the Catechism to make me contented. I fin- ished the work and then I went out of doors. I broke off a bunch of the red June roses and fastened them in my black braids. Then I went out into the road, arid began pacing back and forth under the trees, going on with my rebel- lious musings, indulging my longings for a gay, bright, festal life. I was too much absorbed to hear an approaching footstep, and I did not look up till I heard my name called. FrankI mean Miss Palmeris it possi- ble? I raised my eyes, and met those of Tom Esterley. The meeting did not embarrass me. I saw, with that first glance, that he admired me, and my natural feminine coquetry put me at ease. Is what possible ? I asked, coolly. Is it possible that four years have changed little Frank Palmer to what I see? May was speaking of you to-day, and wanting to see you. You must come over to-morrow. Or wont you go now, to-night? She would be so glad. Not till to-morrow, if you please. He accepted my decision readily enough, but he lingered a long time beside me, walking hack and forth under the trees, and when he went away made me promise faithfully to call on his sister the next day. Then he begged the bunch of roses from my hair, and pressing them gal- lantly to his lips bade me good-night. My heart vas in a strange flutter of ambition and gratified vanity. I wondered if young Mr. Esterley held the key which was to open for me the door into that new lifethe life of pleasure and ease and eleganceon which I longed to enter. Viewed apart from any such consider- ations, I doubt whether I should have found him very fascinating. Looking back to-day, I can see him standing. there in the June twilight just as clearly as I saw him then, and probably judge him a great deal more justly. A neat, trim figure, with dainty, well-shod feet, nice little hands in primrose-colored gloves, fresh, xvell-fitting summer clothes, a Panama hat with a wide ribbon swinging from his fin- gersthese, with a face which had no great strength in it for good or evil, light eyes, soft light hair, silken mustache, and an expression of serene self-complacence, made up Tom Es- terley. A good-natured, well-meaning young man, as I know now, with no harm in him be- yond those small dissipations which such na- tures wear lightly as their badges of manly nc- complishment; but quite without the strength of mind or body to be guide, comfort, rest, to a passionate, impulsive, eager girl, such as I was then. Yet I saw no defectsI only noticed the grace and gallantry to which I was unac- customed, and which I admired. I made up my mind that first night to marry him if I eould. That my appearance had both surprised and pleased him I felt ~ure; and I was not ~vithout hope that the summer, during which we should be so near together, would complete my con- quest. The next afternoon, before getting ready for my call, I consulted my mother as a matter of form, predetermined, however, to overrule her 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. objections if she should make any. She ac- quiesced in my plan at once. Certainly, she said. You and May were always great friends. Go and see her, and if your welcome is not what it used to be, youll know how to stay away afterward. So I put on my pink muslin, my most becom- ing dress, and started off well pleased. Before I had reached the entrance of the Esterley grouuds May saw me, and ran to meet me the same dear, impulsive girl as ever. I was on the look-out for you, she said, you dear, darling old Frank. Tom said you would come to-day. You cant think how he raves about you. He says you would make such a sensation in society. I had enough New England self-respect and self-possession to keep me from any undue ex- pressions of enthusiasm when I went with May through the house, filled with such adornments as were utterly unfamiliar to my eyes. I ad- mired with discretion, and suffered neither ig- norance nor envy to make me ridiculous. The family were all kind, but I fancied that I de- tected about Mrs. Esterley and her two elder daughters a slight atmosphere of patronage. I did not mind it, however. The Squire was good-natured and fatherly, May was quite un- changed, and Tom waited on my steps and list- ened to my words with a devotion as new to my experidnee of life as it was flattering. They made me stay to tea, and afterward I drove with them, and it was almost nine oclock when they set me down at my own gate. I need not ask if youve enjoyed yourself, mother said, cheerfully, as I went in. Your face tells the story. The blues are all gone. And heres John. Sure enough John Colman rose, and came out of the shadow where he was sittingtall, strong, sturdy, every inch a man, but not a hit of a fine gentleman, and I liked fine gentlemen best in those days. I talked to him a few mo- ments, but I fancy my manner was cold, for he soon went away, and I knew when he was gone my mother sighed a little sadly, and said, half- reproachfully, that John was not elegant, per- haps, but he was good as gold. I did not dispute her remark. I was in a hur- ry to get up stairs and dream my new dreams, ponder my new ambitions, and recall all the events of the afternoon. After that the Esterleys claimed a large share of my time. Sometimes they wanted me to drive or ride; then again it was some home amusement which would not be complete with- out me. On some pretext or other we met daily. I doubt if Mrs. Esterley and her elder daughters were quite pleased at the cOurse events were taking, but they could hardly complain of it, for until four years~ ago we had been near neighbors and close friends all our lives. The Squire was unchanged by his prosperity, and really liked me; so Mays friendship and Toms admiration carried the day, and I was almost one of the family before June was over. My father and mother took the matter quietly, though I do not think it pleased them. They had no ambition of the kind which seeing me married to Tom Esterley would gratify; but perhaps they thought there was n& danger of that. At any ntte, they were wise enough not to strengthen any fancy I might have by opposi- tion, or to manifest any tyrannical desire to abridge my enjoyment. It makes my heart ache to-day to think of the quiet patience with which my mother did alone the tasks in which I ought to have helped her while I took my pleas- ure. The first of Augustjust six weeks from that June afternoon which I have called the begin- ning of my experience of lifeTom Esterley asked me to marry him. lie made his declara- tion of love very gracefullysaid all the usual pretty sentences about my being the one %hing needful to perfect his life, the only woman he had ever cared for, and so on. It sounded very sweetly, and I can remember it all to this day. I experienced no very tumultuous emotions, but my heart was fluttering with gratified ambition, and I felt a certain pride in his attentions and delight at his preference, which I really thought was love. So I said yes to his pleading, as in- deed I had meant to, from that first June day when I made up my mind that he should like me. That night I told father and mother, as quiet- ly and briefly as I could, that I had promised to marry Tom Esterley, and he would come the next day to ask their consent. Poor John I my mother said softly, I think almost unconsciously. I took her up all the more sharply, perhaps, because her words touched a secret chord of sympathy in my own heart. As if I ever, under any circumstances, would ~have married John Colman! I am not enough in love with a farmers lot for that. Let those skim milk, and churn butter, and scrub floors who are fond of it. For me, I shall like such a life as the Esterleys live very decidedly bet- ter. May your life he happy, dear child, what- ever one you choose I my mother said, still gently, but with a quiver of pain in her voice which touched me more than any rebuke would have done. The next morning Tom came and said what- ever was right and proper to my parents, I sup- pose, for they called me down afterward, and I saw him alone in the little parlor, and he told me it was all settled. I was to be his wife by the next springthey bad not been willing the engagement should be shorter than thatbut in the mean time he should persuade them to let mc make a long visit in New York, and we must bear the waiting as well as we could. Then he kissed me. I wondered at myself for taking it all so coolly. I bad thought it ~vas in my tem- perament to love with fervor and passion; but I had mistaken myself, probably, and my capacity for emotion was not what I bad imagined it. FIRST AND LAST: A RETROSPECT. 47 That evening, when I returned from a drive with Mr. Esterley, and went in alone, having parted with him at the gate, I found John Col- man there again. Something told me, the mo- ment I saw his face, that my mother had been informing him how matters stood. He got up and came forward to shake hands. I knew it was hard work for him to be so calm by the tense lines round his mouth, and the unwonted flush on his bronzed cheek. But he spoke very quietly. Your mother has told me, Frank, and I think the lot will just suit you. You were born to love bright and beautiful things, and to live nmon~, them. God bless you ! Then he went away. Mother asked me if I had had a nice ride, but her voice trembled. I kne~v she loved John al- most as if he were her son, and that she had been sorrowing over the pain she had been forced to give him. I ~vent up stairs, and curi- ously enough my own heart was not as light as the heart of a newly-betrothed bride should have been. But I looked over to the Esterley man- sion, rising stately in the moonlight, and thought of the life of ease and elegance which awaited me, and found therein balm for all woes less than its loss. The next day all the Esterleys called at our house. The Squire and May were hearty and tender in their congratulations. In the man- ner of the others there was nothing to complain of; but I received the impression that they were acting under a heroic resolve to make the best of a bad bargain. The family lingered long at Sayville that fall; hilt they went away, one sunny day in the last of October, with the promise that I should go in a few weeks to make them a visit. When they were gone I missed something terriblythe rec- reation, the gay, careless life I had led with them, and its daily excitements, or, perhaps, Toms devotion. I certainly thought it was the latter, and began to believe that my heart was as deeply interested in him as my ambition. I am afraid I was sadly petulant and uncomforta- ble to live withI ~vas such an undisciplined girl in those days, before my great sorrow over- took me. At length it was time for my visit, and Tom canie for me. I could weep now at the mem- ory of my fathers grave tenderness as lie took me one side and gave nie a pocket-book con- taining five crisp, new, one-hundred-dollar bank- notes. I cant do as much for you, Frank, as I wish I could, he said; but I want you should have enough not to be ashamed where you are going, or mortify your friends. You must use what you need of this to be comfortable this winter, and spend the rest for wedding fineries. And then, I suppose, a sudden thought of what that wedding meant, and how it would take his only child away from him into quite another sphere of life, overcame him, and his eyes filled with a quick film of tears, and he kissed me with lips that trembled a little, and hurried away. He did not come in sight again; but my mo- ther stood in the door as I ~vent down the path, and I turned back and looked at her, with the November sunshine just touching her hair where the silver threads were growing thick, ~vith the patient, al~vays tender smile on her gentle lips, and her eyes seeming to follow me with a hope and a blessing. If I had known that I should never see her just so again, I wonder if I would have gone? That memory of her will neyer fade. So her face will smile on me when heart and pulse are failincr; so, I think, will its smil- ing welcome me when the new life is come in the old lifes stead. I enjoyed my visit very much, after the pain of my first parting from fi~ther and mother had worn away. I had never seen a large city be- fore. You can imagine how wonderful it all washow I stared at the richly-dressed ladies, the splendid carriages, and the bright silks, soft laces, and marvelous bonnets in the shop win- dows. Then the concerts, and theatres, and op- eras, the constant round of seeing and hearing and enjoying, quite took my breath away. I thought I had never been so happy. Days and evenings seemed like a bright, swift, glittering panorama; and nights I was too tired to think. Tom was proud of me, I believe. I had a fresh, unworn face, and a genuine interest in every thing, which charmed, perhaps, more than great. er beauty and less freshness would have done; and he liked to see opera-glasses turned toward me. I began to perceive just ~vhat my life would be with him. There would be nothing quiet or domestic about itno intimate union of our soulsnothing of that sacred oneness which makes of marriage something holy as a sacra- ment and lasting as eternity; but we should be young and glad and merry together; he would he fond and indulgent. While the sunshine lasted, gayer butterflies would not flutter: how would it be when storms should beat, and our gossamer wings be drenched? But I did not stop to think of that. With the gayety and the glitter I believed myself quite content. And so the weeks went on, and it was almost Christmas. We were to have a family party, a tree, and a festal time. I looked forward to it all with eager, expectant delight, just touched with one thought of sadnessfor it would be the first Christmas I had ever spent away from home. It was Monday the 22d, and through the early winter twilight we sat togetherTom and his sisters and Italking over the coming Thursday. Then we all went up stairs to dress, for we were going to the opera that night. I had just finished my toilet, I remember, and laid my warm shawl on the bed, and was taking a last look in the glass, when I heard the door- bell ring loudly. never thought that the sum- mons could have ny connection with me, so I went on studying the face which looked out at me from the Psyche mirror. I did not know then that I should never see that face again with such a festal brightness surrounding it as 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. it then wore; but I looked at myself with a hap- Somehow John settled it, and persuaded them py girlish delight, an innocent vanity. Bright off. I heard the little bustle in the hall, then cheeks, coral lips, great dark eyes, heavily- the carriage drove away, and then I heard a drooping hairthey are all changed since, but quick, firm step along the sidewalk, Johns step I remember just how they sparkled then. I had going to his hotel. Oh, how thankful I was to drawn the hunch of scarlet geranium flowers feel quite alone at last! It seemed as if a hand which adorned my braids a little to the left; I I which had choked my agony to silence hitherto was all ready, and began to wonder whether the was taken away. I could grieve now as I chose, rest were, when suddenly my door opened, with- and the very violence of my sobs and tears be- out the ceremony of a knock, and a startled face gun, after a while, to console me. In an hour looked in. the tempest of emotion had spent itself. I grew Some one has come for you from home, calm, and began to pack my trunks. Soon I Miss Frances, said the girlone of those who remembered something I had left in the draw- had been with the family at Sayville through ing-room, and went down to fetch it. There sat the summer Mr. Colman. Will you please May aloneher face pale and stained with tears. come down ? When she saw me she came and took me in her I knew instantly that John Colman was the arms. messenger of evil tidings. Either my father or I did not mean to disturb you, Frank, she mother must be dead, I thought. Someho~v I said. Mr. Colman thought it best you shQuld got down stairs. John was alone in the draw not know any one was here, and I promised to ing-room; he met me at the door, and made be quite still. I could not go there, among the me sit down before he spoke. lights and the music and the gay people, and It is not death, Frank, dont tremble so think of you breaking your heart at home. Shall he said, soothingly. Your mother was struck I trouble you, now ? with paralysis yesterday morning; but there is Not now, but you can not know how thank- no immediate danger, and she may live for ful I was to be by myself at first. years. But we knew you would want to come Then she went up stairs with me, and helped home. me do every thing, just as a sister would. We Oh yes, yes ! I cried, wildly; when can I were scarcely through before we heard th& car- go? Why did I ever leave her ? riage come home, and Toms step hurrying aux- You could not have saved her if you had iously up stairs. May ~vent out to him, shut- been there. Dont make it harder to bear by ting my door behind her. self-reproach. You can go to-morrow morning, flow is she, poor dear? I heard him ask. if you could be ready then. The cars leave at She has been in my mind every moment. Can eight. I will come for you. I see her? I will be ready, never fear, I said, dreari- Not to-night, I think. We must spare her ly, with a wild longing to start, to be on my strength for to-morrow. She must get some rest. way, such as no words could have expressed. We will take breakfast with her, at a quarter of Just then they all came inMrs. Esterley, the seven in the morning. Poor Frankits a ter- three sisters, and Tomthe Squire was away on rible blow business. I looked at them with a sort of won- Then she came back to me. der at their mirth and brightness, as if they be- Shall I stay with you to-night, or would you longed to a life with which I had no longer any prefer to be alone ? she asked, in her gentle, thing to do. But they grew sober enough when low-tuned voice.. they saw my face, and John Colman standing Alone, if you please,I said; but oh, May, there. John explainedhe was careful to spare I shall never forget how good you were 1 me every unnecessary wordand then, at once, It was long before I slept, and I thought at they were all earnest and eager in their sym- first that I could not close my eyes at all; but pathy. Tom came to my side. I think he took I remembered that I must rest, or after my next my hand, and put his arm round me, but I days journey I should be useless to ker; and hardly know. lie was like a shadow to me just somehow my physical being obeyed at last my then. Of course they wanted to send the car- minds behest, and I slept until they called me riage away, and all to stay at home. But it at six the next morning. seemed to me I could not bear that. I longed All the family were up at breakfast. The so to be unwatched and alone, old-fashioned, neighborly kindness of other days If they would only go ? I sighed. which, after all, lay deep in their hearts came My lips scarcely formed the words, but John to the surface, and I know their sympathy and understood them. interest were genuine. I think, he said, quietly, that she would Breakfast over, my bonnet on, my shawl and be more comfortable if you were to go. She bag at hand, Tom caine to me where I stood will bear it better if she is lef~alone. alone at the window watching for John. Oh yes, I found voice to ay; forgive me I can not bear you should go without me, if I seem ungrateful, but I mast be quite by my- he said. I wish I might go with you, but I self: and then my awful grief shook me in its suppose it would not do now grasp, as a reed shaken by the wind, and I rushed I looked at him a moment then with eyes away from them all, and up stairs. that seemed, someho~v, never to have- seen him FIRST AND LAST: A RETROSPECT. 49 before. What was there in him on which I could rely in perilous times? Gay, graceful, gallantwhat affinity was there between that surface nature and the sober verities of life? I felt instinctively how soon he would tire of grief and its demands. Was he one to share a long vigil over my sickto mourn with me over my dead? Would he not be totally out of place in the farm-house kitchen, out of which my mo- thers room opened? How impossible I felt it to turn to him for sympathy! What had I been going to rely on in the stress and strain of lifes great crises, with that man for my husband? I do not mean that all these thoughts were clear- ly defined; but they all swept through my mind, and the impression they made was strong and lasting. Yet I answered him, quietly: You are very kind, but it will not be best that you should go. In a few days you shall hear how she is. And at the very earliest moment possible you must let me come. You must not forget what you are to be to me in the spring. No, rihall not forget. I wonder if my voice was as devoid of hope and interest as my heart was? Just then a carriage stopped, and the bell rang, and we knew it was John Colman. Then all the family gathered round me and bade me good-by hurriedly, but with pitying tenderness. It was almost too much for me, and I was thank- ful to John for hurrying me away. What care he took of me in that long days journey! He seemed to understand every one of my moods and wishes by some mysterious in- stinct. He did not talk to me, except to an- swer, always patiently, my too often-recurring questionsDo you think she will know me ? and Do you truly believe it is possible that she may live for years ? At last, when it was almost night, the cars stopped at Sayville station, and I was in a car- riage with John beside me driving home. How strange the conntry stillness seemed after all the whirl of city sights and sounds! A light snow had fallen that morning and rested mo- tionless on trees and fences. Our feet made tracks in it as we went from the gate to the house. My father opened the door, looking twenty years older for these two days of sorrow. How is she ? I asked, eagerly. Bad enough, he answered. One side is paralyzedshe will never use her right arm or her right limb again; but she can speak, thank God, and she will know you. Go right in, shes in a hurry to see you.,~ I took off bonnet and shawl hastily, and then I went in where she wasmy mother, who had watched me down the path when I went away, with the November sunshine glinting in her hair, the fond smile on her lips, the hope and the prayer in her eyes. She lay now on her bed, bolstered up with pillows, and ngain she tried to smile, but the muscles of the right side of her face were powerless, and that one-sided smile was a thing more piteous than tears. VOL. XXXII.No. 187.D Oh, my child! my child ! she cried, in her strange, changed voice, thank God you are come. I did so lGng for you. I knelt by her side and pressed my lips to the right hand that lay there so numb and power- less. I kissed it, as the old crusaders used to kiss the cross, making a vow and a pledge, tak- ing up so my lifes work. Then I said: Yes, mother, here I am; never, please God, to leave you again so long as you need me. Toward midnight they sent me to my room. Mother was not in pain, needed little care, and father insisted that I should rest. I put a shawl round me, and drew away the curtain from my window, and sat there, just where I had sat that June afternoon, six months and ten days before. Now how changed my views of life were! I had tested the metal which glittered so that dayshared the gay, bright, pleasure-seeking life. And now I cov- eted it no longer. I had come back satisfied. That stately house, on which the winter moon- light shone, could never be the home of my heart. Oh, if God would but let me atone to ~iy mother for these past six months of cold- ness; for my wicked scorn of the dear old homely works and ways! Somehow I scarcely thought of Tom at all that night. It was only of my mother, and the sad, changed face on the pillows down stairs. When the doctor made his early visit the next day I managed to see him for a moment alone. He only confirmed what John had said. She might, very possibly, not have another shock for many yearsher life was in no present dan- gershe might even be somewhat stronger and in better health by-and-bybut she could never, never be her old self again. She would be from henceforth as helpless for all practical purposes as an infant.. So every thing combined to make it clear to me what my life-work was. But I said nothing as yet to my mother about my plans and purposesindeed I did not talk to her about the future at all. She was in 110 pain, and I found it interested and amused her to hear about my visit to New York; so I repro- duced it for hertold her of all the bright, gay scenes, the music and the merriment. Once she looked up, with such an expression of love struggling through the numb lineaments of her face, and shining out of her eyes, and said, softly: And you left all this to come home to me good, dear child! The next morning after that was Christmas that Christmas I had planned to spend so differ- ently. I wondered if they were keeping high holiday in the house I had leftif the Christ- mas-tree glittered with its costly giftsif I should be missed. And then, for part answer to my questions, a package camethe Christ- mas gifts they had previously prepared for me. There were choice booksa lovely Madonna in a simple frameand, from Tom, the daintiest of inlaid writing-desks. With them were two notesfrom Torn a little sheet of tender phrases, and entreaties that he might come and see me 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. soonfrom May a few words of earnest sympa- thy, and an apology for sending the gifts at such a time, because they had been meant for me, and it would make them all so sad to see them hang unappropriated on the Christmas- tree. I answered both notesMays briefly, with fond thanks, and assurances of a love that would never changeToms more at length, for to him I had much to say. I set my life before him, just as it must be for the future. I told him that I would never give my mother up to the care of strangers, for I knew no one else could or would make her as comfortable as I should. Here was my work, and here must be my homea work and a home which it was con- trary to the very nature of things for him to share. Nor would I for a moment consent to hold him hound to meto keep him waiting through long years, and losing in such dreary probation the youth and hope of his life. There was only one thing to be done. We must re- linquish the engagement, and be friends only hereafter. I wrote firmly, hut I mentioned my purposes to no one. The letter brought him the next week to Say- ville, as I had fancied it might. He came full of prayers and protestations, earnestly determ- ined to make me change my mind, strongly in- trenched in pretty theories of constancy and ro- mance. I !net him on the sober ground of re- ality. I showed him just what my life would bejust how narrow and homely the range of my duties. I made him fully understand that I had assumed the care of my mother as my work in life, which God had given me to do, and from which I was by no means to be turned away. And then I showed him, what I think he must instinctively have felt, how impossible it would be to him to share such a lifeto be happy in such a round, for which neither taste nor habit had fitted him. He made an attempt or two to persuade me to consent that the engagement should be con- tinuedto let him wait for me. But I was thoroughly determinedI would neither give nor accept any thing short of absolute freedom. Of course, being the stronger-willed of the two, I carried the day. We parted, with pledges of faithful friendship, and with protestations on his part that no one else ever could or should take my place in his heartprotestations in which I have not the slightest doubt he was at the time fully in earnest. After he was gone I told my mother. At first she protested against accepting such a sac- rifice of my future; but when I told her that sacrifice there was nonethat any thing like love which I had ever felt for Tom Esterley seemed to me as utterly a thing of the past as yesterdays sunshine, as unreal and vague as last nights di~eams, her anxious eyes brightened, and I knew that the prospect of keeping me glad- dened her heart. Nor did I tell her any thing more than the truth. I could not understand why thus breaking the tic that bound me to Tom Esterley had cost me so little pain; but I had not one longing after him. My only regret was for 1*is suffering; and that, I believed, would be short-lived. It seemed to me that what I had felt for him had been the merest bubble on my cup of life, the offspring solely of girlish vanity, and an idle longing for an easy, luxuri- ous destiny. One friend, I felt, had a claim to know the trutha friend proved and tried. The next time I saw John Colman I said to him: My engagement with Mr. Esterley is at an end. I felt that my duty was herea duty he could not shareand I would not let him con- sider himself bound to me any longer. He answered simply: I think you have done right, Frank, and after that the subject was not mentioned be- tween us. Through the long winter and spring I tended my mother, the most patient and gentle of in- valids. There was little change in her condi- tion; that little was for the better, however. She had an invalid chair, in which I used to wheel her to the window, and into the kitchen beyond. I came to her with all my housekeep- ing difficulties, and we were chatty and cheerful together, in spite of the terrible loss the power of motion was to her and my own dumb heart- ache at seeing her so changed. With June came the Esterleys back again; but ~vithout Tom. He was traveling with some friends, May saidhe had thought he should suffer too much in coming back to the old place. Then, as if fearful I should think she was blam- ing me, she kissed me and said, earnestly: I think you did just what was right, Frank. I could not tell you how I honored you for it. You are just as much the dearest of my sisters as if you had been Toms wife. Except Maywho came often to see meI saw little of the Esterleys that summer. Their lives and mine ran in very different channels. They were still gayer than of old, for they had city friends staying ~vith them most of the time; and their bright, pleasure-seeking life went on to a merry tune. But I never envied them any more. The enchantment of distance lent no grace to their summer ways. I had tried the whole thing, and, for me, found it wanting. With the fall rains my fathers lungs began to trouble him somewhat, and his health to fail. I think his anxiety and sorrow about my mother had worn on him more than we knew. Not that he was exactly ill, only so far from thor- oughly well that it made us anxious. Thea it was that, seeing John Colman, I began to un- derstand what unselfish friendship and devotion might be. He made no offers or professions he just watched for the opportunity to do us service. He was beforehand with every task likely to be too hard for my father; no son could have been more untiringly kind and thoughtful. I began to honor him as I had never honored any man before. Sometimes I thought of the love I believed he had once felt for me with NAMES OF MEN. 51 a sense of loss as one might feel who had That was seventeen years agoI told you I wantonly thrown away a pearl of great price; was a middle-aged woman now. For the last but not often, for I felt that it had all been ten years of the time John and I have been ended when I promised to marry Tom Esterley, quite alone. First, when I had been five years and my life was too full of real cares and duties a wife, my father died, and two years afterward to leave me much time for mere sentimental re- my mother followed him. Together we two grets. tended them to the last. Want or pain which At last, toward March, came a letter from either of us could relieve they never knew. My May announcing Toms engagement to a girl father gave us his blessing the hour his soul whom he had met last summer a darling, passed from earth, and it has rested on us ever the letter said, and we all love her dearly, but since. My mother watched us through long, to me she can never be quite what you would lingering days with her fond eyes, and at the have been. very end she found strength to say John Colman had brought me the epistle, God will reward you. Good-by, children ! and when I had read it through I handed it to There are flowers on those graves watered him with a smile. by the tears of an unforgetful love; but I have Just read, I said, and see how constant never had a sorrow which John did not share men are! You wouldnt believe it, but when for which I could not find solace, if not altogeth- we parted, a year and two months ago, that er consolation, in his strong, true heart. youth was sure he should go bereft and uncon- soled to the end of his days. John read the letter, and then looked at me NAMES OF MEN. with a puzzled face. Bonurn a a, bonum emea. How gayly you take it ! he said. Dont IATHEN the good King Philip of France had you care ? TV determined to seat a queen by his side on Yes, in one way I care a great deal. I was the throne, he sent embassadors to his neigh- so afraid I had made him suffer, and lam thank- bor, the King of Spain, and gave them authority ful beyond measure that he has got over it all so to choose one of his two daughters for their soy- easily. ereign. They were struck with the beauty of Just then mothers voice came out of the bed- the elder sister, and decided among themselves room. Children ! she called. It was a way that, both on account of her age and her charms, she had of associating us, of which I had scarce- she would be a fit bride for their master. But ly thought before, but now I felt my cheeks grow- of a sndden their opinion was changed. They ing scarlet, and I knew John was looking at me. had been told that the beauty was called Urac- We went into the room together. ca, while the younger and less attractive sister Mother, he said, how would you like me was called Blanca. That name of Uracca de- for a son? stroyed all other charms; they abandoned their Her face brightened as I had not seen it be- choice, and led the younger princess back with fore since her trouble came. . them to rule over France. History has more You know, John, how I would like it. I than one such answer to the question, Whats think you are my son now. in a name ? Perhaps parents would be more Then I wish you would tell Frank how long guarded in naming their children ifthey thought and well I have loved her, and make her willing how much more pleasing Mary, Anne, and Lucy I should be your son too. I thought until to- sound, even to the uneducated ear, than bar- day that she cared for some one else, and I barous Barbara, the little bear Ursula, and the would not pain her by telling her. heathen Apollonia. Men might even be ex- I walked straight up to him, and looked in his pected to guard their names more jealously from eyes. I discovered just at that moment that this every stain and bad repute if they gave more matter of his love was a matter of life and death attention to their meaning and their history. to me. It will not be amiss, therefore, .to examine En- John, I said, do you love me just as well as glish names, at least in their outlines, and as if I had never been engaged to Tom Esterley ? far as this affords us a valuable insight into Better; for when you broke off that en- their early history and present form. gagement it taught me, as I had never under- The oldest surnames with which we are fa- stood before, how much there was of you be- miliar are those of the Bible, and they represent sides the girlish brightness and prettiness which invariably true patronymics in their earliest had won me at first. Im not eloquent, Frank, form. We read of Caleb, the son of Jephun- but I say the most a man can when I say that I nab, and of Joshua, the son of Nun. For the love you. fathers name, however, an ordinary word was I did not tell him until after I was his wife soon substituted: thus, dying, Rachel had called the secret I had only learned myself since this her child Benoni, the son of my sorrow ; but trouble came, that even in the old days of fool. Jacob gave him the name of Benjamin, the ish vanity I had cared for him, and that I had son of my strength. The same custom pre- never really loved any one else. We were mar- vailed in Greek, where we read of Icarus (the ned that spring; and he leased his house, dis- son) of Daidalus, and of Daidalus (the son) of missed his housekeeper, and came home to us. Eupalmos. This survives in our modern Isaac

M. Schele De Vere De Vere, M. Schele Names of Men 51-56

NAMES OF MEN. 51 a sense of loss as one might feel who had That was seventeen years agoI told you I wantonly thrown away a pearl of great price; was a middle-aged woman now. For the last but not often, for I felt that it had all been ten years of the time John and I have been ended when I promised to marry Tom Esterley, quite alone. First, when I had been five years and my life was too full of real cares and duties a wife, my father died, and two years afterward to leave me much time for mere sentimental re- my mother followed him. Together we two grets. tended them to the last. Want or pain which At last, toward March, came a letter from either of us could relieve they never knew. My May announcing Toms engagement to a girl father gave us his blessing the hour his soul whom he had met last summer a darling, passed from earth, and it has rested on us ever the letter said, and we all love her dearly, but since. My mother watched us through long, to me she can never be quite what you would lingering days with her fond eyes, and at the have been. very end she found strength to say John Colman had brought me the epistle, God will reward you. Good-by, children ! and when I had read it through I handed it to There are flowers on those graves watered him with a smile. by the tears of an unforgetful love; but I have Just read, I said, and see how constant never had a sorrow which John did not share men are! You wouldnt believe it, but when for which I could not find solace, if not altogeth- we parted, a year and two months ago, that er consolation, in his strong, true heart. youth was sure he should go bereft and uncon- soled to the end of his days. John read the letter, and then looked at me NAMES OF MEN. with a puzzled face. Bonurn a a, bonum emea. How gayly you take it ! he said. Dont IATHEN the good King Philip of France had you care ? TV determined to seat a queen by his side on Yes, in one way I care a great deal. I was the throne, he sent embassadors to his neigh- so afraid I had made him suffer, and lam thank- bor, the King of Spain, and gave them authority ful beyond measure that he has got over it all so to choose one of his two daughters for their soy- easily. ereign. They were struck with the beauty of Just then mothers voice came out of the bed- the elder sister, and decided among themselves room. Children ! she called. It was a way that, both on account of her age and her charms, she had of associating us, of which I had scarce- she would be a fit bride for their master. But ly thought before, but now I felt my cheeks grow- of a sndden their opinion was changed. They ing scarlet, and I knew John was looking at me. had been told that the beauty was called Urac- We went into the room together. ca, while the younger and less attractive sister Mother, he said, how would you like me was called Blanca. That name of Uracca de- for a son? stroyed all other charms; they abandoned their Her face brightened as I had not seen it be- choice, and led the younger princess back with fore since her trouble came. . them to rule over France. History has more You know, John, how I would like it. I than one such answer to the question, Whats think you are my son now. in a name ? Perhaps parents would be more Then I wish you would tell Frank how long guarded in naming their children ifthey thought and well I have loved her, and make her willing how much more pleasing Mary, Anne, and Lucy I should be your son too. I thought until to- sound, even to the uneducated ear, than bar- day that she cared for some one else, and I barous Barbara, the little bear Ursula, and the would not pain her by telling her. heathen Apollonia. Men might even be ex- I walked straight up to him, and looked in his pected to guard their names more jealously from eyes. I discovered just at that moment that this every stain and bad repute if they gave more matter of his love was a matter of life and death attention to their meaning and their history. to me. It will not be amiss, therefore, .to examine En- John, I said, do you love me just as well as glish names, at least in their outlines, and as if I had never been engaged to Tom Esterley ? far as this affords us a valuable insight into Better; for when you broke off that en- their early history and present form. gagement it taught me, as I had never under- The oldest surnames with which we are fa- stood before, how much there was of you be- miliar are those of the Bible, and they represent sides the girlish brightness and prettiness which invariably true patronymics in their earliest had won me at first. Im not eloquent, Frank, form. We read of Caleb, the son of Jephun- but I say the most a man can when I say that I nab, and of Joshua, the son of Nun. For the love you. fathers name, however, an ordinary word was I did not tell him until after I was his wife soon substituted: thus, dying, Rachel had called the secret I had only learned myself since this her child Benoni, the son of my sorrow ; but trouble came, that even in the old days of fool. Jacob gave him the name of Benjamin, the ish vanity I had cared for him, and that I had son of my strength. The same custom pre- never really loved any one else. We were mar- vailed in Greek, where we read of Icarus (the ned that spring; and he leased his house, dis- son) of Daidalus, and of Daidalus (the son) of missed his housekeeper, and came home to us. Eupalmos. This survives in our modern Isaac 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Jacobson, or Stephen Fitzherbert. Such names were the rule in England before the Conquest, and Proper Names, in the modern sense, were then little known, if at all. Only about a thou- sand surnax~1es began to be taken up by the most noble families in France and in England, when the language was gradually Frenchified, about the time of Edward the Confessor. The low- er nobility did not follow this example until the twelfth, and citizens and husbandmen had no names for their families before the fourteenth century. It is probable, though not absolutely certain, that surnames were so called from the fact that they were at first always written not in a direct line after the Christian name, but above it, between the lines, as Du Cange says, and thus were literally supra-nomina, or sur- names. The English names, most of which have thus arisen since the Norman Conquest, have recruits among them from almost all races and lan- guages upon the earth. The Hebrew itself is largely represented in its ancient Ben, which means son. It has given ns Benjamin and the shorter Benson, Bendigo and Benari, Ben- david and Benoni. The corresponding word in Syriac, Bar, is of less frequent occurrence, and mostly modernized, as in Barrow, which now generally stands for Baruch, and in Bartholo- mew and its many descendants. This tendency to disguise Old Testament names has led to much ludicrous sham-work, both in the attempt to conceal and to discover the original forms. Abraham is shortened into Braham, and Moses into Moss or Moseley. Sol- omon becomes, according to fancy or taste, Sal- mon or Sloman; Levi is transfGrmed into Lewis, and Elms into Ellis. The French are as skill- ful as the English in this operation. Thus few readers of history will recognize in the great Republican Manuel the sweet name of Emman- uel, or in the famous banker Mir~s the simple Hebrew-German Meyers. Valiant Manasseh proved its ancient renown on Italian battle- fields as Mass~na, and the vain composer, Herz Adam Levi, added his initials to his fathers name and called himself Hakvi. This tenden- cy is pleasingly illustrated in the great novelist Israeli, or, as he now writes it, Disraeli, who, true to his descent, loves to convert every great man of our day into a member of the chosen people, just as the Irish affirm, with great good faith, no doubt, but with Irish accuracy, that all the heroes of recent date belong to the fa- vored isle. Cavaignac is in their eyes but French for Kavanagh; Pelissier, of Crimean fame, be- longed to the Palissers, and even Garibaldi was originally, they are sure, Garry Baldwin. Dutch names are rare in English families, but frequently met with in those parts of the United States, where early settlers of that na- tion acquired large tracts of land and left be- hind them honored names like the Van Rens- selaers, the Van Shaiks, and Van Benthuyseus. The three most numerous patronymics in use among the English are, of course, the 0, the Mac, and the Ap of the three Celtic races in the British kingdom. The Irish 0, or Oy, is said by their own writers to have originally meant grandson; it is certain that the old Irish plural Ui was formerly quite frequent, though it must now be considered extinct. Mr. Lower, in his charming book on surnames, tells us of an old Scotch dame who boasted that she had trod the worlds stage long eno to possess a hundred Oyes. It need not be explained here that the Irish use largely the cognate Mac, so that there was, in former days at least, much truth in the well-known lines: Per Mac atque 0 tu veros coguoscis Ilibernos, His duobus demptis nullus Hibernus adeBt. The OConnells and OConnors have made their mark in Englands history, and the ODon- ohue is still heard of wherever Erins wrongs are rehearsed. In France this 0 has been slily incorporated into the name, and a son of the ODillons became the simple but celebrated Odilon Barrot. The Scotch Mac meant also originally nothing more than son or male descendant. Macaulay and MCulloch have made the prefix renowned all over the world, while poor MGowan has been translated into unromantic but literal Smithson. MPriest, MBride, and MQueen would be almost scandalous if the world were not too lazy to bear in mind that names have a meaning; and M Quaker, a modern name, has a spice of the ludicrous. MNabb is, in like manner,, good Scotch for the Abbots son, and the origin of the similar name of MPherson is historically established. During the reign of David I., king of Scotland, we are told a youn- ger son of the poweiful clan of Chattan became abbot of Kingussie. The elder brother died afterward childless, and the chieftainship fell to the share of the venerable priest. He procured the necessary dispensation from Rome, and mar- ried the fair daughter of the Thane of Calder. A swarm of little Kingussies followed, and the good people of Inverness-shire, in their quaint, straightforward way, called them MPhersons, the sons of the parson. Occasionally the word Mac gives way to the more pretentious Clan, the Gaelic for offspring or descendants, and this furnishes illustrious names like that of Clanri- carde. The Welsh Ap is the Celtic M~b, and means son. Mr. Lower tells us that its earliest form known in names was Vap or Hab, as it was written in the days of Henry VI. Under the seventh Henry we find it used thus: Morgano Philip, alias dicto Morgano, Vap David, Vap Philip. Subsequently, the first letter being lost, it became simply Ab or Ap, and was, first in pedigrees, placed between the sons and the fathers name, by which means it gradually came to serve as a surname. This custom survives in a few modern namesas Thomas Ap Thomas, and Ap Catesby. But since the Welsh have taken to the use of surnames, after the manner of their English neighbors, they generally drop the a, and connect the Li or p with the fathers name, NAMES OF MEN. 53 thus producing regular family names. In this manner Ap Evan is now Bevan, Beavin, or Be- vms; Ap Henry is Penry, Perry, Barry, or Par- ry; and Ap Howell, Powell, although the same name may have been derived from Paul, as we find it spelled in Chaucer thus: After the text of Christ and Powel and Ion. Ap Hugh is now Pugh, and sometimes Pye, as u in Welsh is apt to have the sound of y. Ap Lewis is Blewis or Blues; and Ap Lleod (Lloyd) is Blewitt, Blood, or Floyd. Ap Lewellen has early become Fluellena name which actually occurred in Stratford during Shakspeares life- time. Ap Owen is Bowen; Ap Richard, Prich- ard, and probably Pickett, unless where the lat- ter comes from the French picot~ Ap Roder- ick is Broderick, and shortened, l3rodie; Ap Roger, Prodger; Ap Ross, Prosser; Ap Rhys (Rees), Pryce, Brice, or Breese; and Ap Wat- kyn, Gwatkin. The exaggerated importance which Welsh- men are accused of attaching to their patro- nymics has led to many an unfiuir jest at their expense hardly justified by this weakness in a few of their race, like the happy one who de- duced, to his own satisfaction, the name of the god Apollo from Ap Haul, the son of the sun. Hence the bitter lines: Cheese: Adams own cousin-german by birth, Ap Curds, Ap Milk, Ap Cow, Ap Grass, Ap Earth. In the year 1299 we find there was a proud Welshman summoned to Parliament by the name and title of Lord Ap Adam; but it is not stated whether he traced his descent in an un- broken line. This baron of so ancient a family left a son, but neither he nor any of his off- spring seem ever after to have been summoned again. Later descendants, however, have care- fully noted every step in the pedigree of the Ap Adams, and may yet establish a claim to sit among their post-diluvian brethren. There is another a occasionally prefixed to names which must be carefully distinguished from its Welsh namesake. It occurs frequent- ly among the humbler classes in Cumberland and Westmorelandas in William a Bills, John a Toms, Billy a Luke, where it seems simply to stand for the English of, added to the fathers name. In other cases it appears to have been used after the fashion of the Norman de for the Latin abas in John a Gaunt (ab Ghent), and in the name of the first grand-master of the Teutonic order, whom Fuller, in his Holy War, calls Henry a Walpole. We are all familiar with Thomas a Becket, Anthony a Wood, and Thomas a Kempis, though few may be aware that the fictitious names of John a Nokes and Tom a Stiles have been handed down to us from Jack Noakes and Tom Styles, who formerly served as representatives of the profanum vulgus, or our more fastidious Tom, Dick, and Harry. The Normans added to these patronymics their own Fitz, the much-abused flues of the Romans. It is somewhat strange, however, that the use of this word is now unknown in France, and does not occur in the ancient chronicles of that country. The name came, there is reason to believe, from Flanders, and was only subse- quently adopted by the Normans, who we,:e strangely fond of names and surnames. Like the old Romansof whom already Horace says, Caudent prcenomine molles auriculce, while he sat- irizes one as Tarnquam habeas tria nominathey loved to add name to name, so that Fitzhamons daughter could justly complain, as of a great wrong done her, that the natural son of King Henry I., whom he gave her as husband, had but one name. The King, therefore, bestowed on him the proud name of Fitz Roi; for, says she in the poetical version of the event: It were to me great shame To have a lord withouten his twa name. Henry II., to recall his being born in imperial purple, called himself Fitz Empress; and at one time it was the fashion among old Anglo-Saxon families to exchange their ancient son for the more modern Fitz. The Sweynsons thus be- came Fitz-Swains, and the Hardysonnes Fitz- Har0anges. Even now the eldest son of Harris, Earl of Malmesbury, is by courtesy called Vis- count Fitz-Harris. It will be seen from this how erroneous the general impression is that Fitz always indicated illegitimacy. It was prob- ably not before the days of the later Norman kings that the name was at all applied to bas- tardsa custom which has, however, since been regularly kept up. Thus arose the compara- tively recent ease of the children of the Duke of Clarence and Mrs. Jordan, who bore the name of Fitz-Clarence. The very large number of English names which are derived from Saints have mainly come down to us from th& Normans, though a few, no doubt, are derived more directly through the Church. Some have been preserved in their purity, but others are sadly mispronounced. The majority have been so fiercely mutilated that, but for authentic documents showing the gradual change, their present appearance would scarcely suggest the original form. Thus, St. Paul is now Sampole, Sample, or Semple; St. Denis, Sidney; and St. Aubin, Tobyn or Dob- bina degradation due, like many others, to the desire of certain Norman settlers in Ireland to become thoroughly Hibernicized. Sta. Clara is now Sinclair, or even Sinkler; St. Leger is Sillinger; and St. Pierre, Sampire, Sampier, and, in the Southern States of the Union, Yam- pert. St. Oly has changed into Toly; St. Ebbe into Tabby, or Tebbs; St. Amandus into Sa- mand; St. Edolph into Stydolph; and St. Barbe into Simbard. Most of these changes took place as soon as the loss of Normandy cut off English noblemen from their constant intercourse with Francea time at which the Saxon element began to get the better of the Norman French, and to fashion it to its own laws of euphony. It was then, also, that other French names not derived from Saints underwent similar mutila- tions; when La Morte Mer gave us Mortimer, and Le Mort Lac, Mortlake or Mortlock; when Beauchamp began to sound like Beechamas 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Froissart spells it by the ear; when Belvoir be- came Beaver, Cholmondeley Chomley, and the French-English word skirmisher appeared first under the strange guise of Scrymgeour! The Flemish and Frisian patronymic kin is so closely connected with our own Saxon kin that at this period it is difficult to decide to which of the two sources each individual name is due. From the occurrence of the same words on the Continent we may, however, presume that especially the abbreviated names are of Frisian origin, such as Watkin, Simkin, Per- kin, and Hodgkin from Walter, Simon, Peter, and Roger. The most fertile of all is, of course, the good old Anglo-Saxon word son, and mixed up with it, now inseparably, the characteristic letter of the genitive, s. Thus we have obtained from Harry, harrison, Harris, Herries, Hawes, and, with the aid of kin, Hawkins; from Andrew: Anderson, Andrews, and Henderson; from Michael: Mixon (Mikes son) and Oldmixon; from Walter: Watson, Watts, and Watkins. David has given us Davidson, Davies, Daws, and Dawson; Hodge: Hodgson, Hodges, Hutch- ins, and Hutchinson; William: Williamson, Williams, Wilson, Wills, and Wilkin, Wilkin- son, and Wilkins. From Richard we have Richardson, Richards, Dixon (Dicks son), Dickens and Dickinson; from Adam: Adam- son, Adams, Atkin, Atkins, and Atkinson; from Elms: Ellyson, Ellis, Ellice, and Elliott; from Anna: Anson; from Nelly: Nelson; and from Patty: Patterson. In like manner are derived Benson, Gibson, Jeffers6n, and Simpson. It must, however, be borne in mind that this final s occasionally rep- resents not the genitive of the fathers name, but the plural, when the name is derived from some peculiarity of outward appearance. Bones is the appropriate name of a medical practition- er of some distinction, and Shanks seem to have the power of attracting public attention in an uncommon degree, if we may judge of the num- ber of Shanks, Longshanks, Crookshanks, or Cruikshanks, and Sheepshanks we meet with in history and in actual life. Common people, it is well known, have a strange partiality for the plural form in s, adding it even to the verb in the vulgar says I, says weand hence are probably derived names like Flowers, Grapes, Crosskeys, Briggs or Bridges, Banks, Boys, Brothers, Cousins, and Children. A different process has led in Italian to the designation of whole families from appearance or profession, as in the case of the Medici, who had long ceased to be physicians, when they were still so called after an ancestor of fame, or the charming Bello and Rosso, who left behind them families of Belli and Rossi and little Bellini and Rossini. The old Saxon derivative my has left us un- fortunately but few proper names such as Man- ning and Dunning, but the expressive kin is much more largely represented. Derived from the ancient cyn, it meant originally race and hence gave us Cyning, now contracted into King, the descendant of the race by eminence, as the children of the French sovereign were, with like exclusiveness, long known as Jils de France, the children of France. Thence came also cyned, now kind, comprising all who be- long to the same race or class. This is the true meaning to be given to the Biblical expres- sion of trees bearing each after its own kind, and to Hamlets words: A little more than kin and less than kind. In its secondary meaning we find the suggestion, that what is of the same race and blood must needs feel affec- tionately one for another, and thus kindness be-~ came synonymous with benevolence and broth- erly love. Added to the fathers name it has from the earliest times served to designate the descendants, and thus we have obtained Wilkin, Tomkin, Perkin (Peterkin), and their derivatives Wilkins, Wilkinson, etc. Of equal antiquity, but of much rarer occur- rence, arc the names obtained by means of the Saxon termination ock, as in Pollock, from Paul and contracted into Polk; which is often connected with the first name by an inserted c, and thus gives us Wilcox (Will-c-ocks), Philcox, and Mattox. It is not our intention here to enter into a full explanation of English surnames. The work has been admirably done by men of great re- search and learning, and yet, as a matter of ne- cessity, but a small proportion of the thirty to forty thousand surnames in our language have been fully explained. They are derived from almost every possible condition of personal qualities, natural objects, occupations, and pur- suits, localities, and often from mere caprice and fancy. We will here only allude to a few peculiarities connected with certain classes of names which deserve fuller investigation. The Norman-French brought with them a number of names, which in the course of being Angli- cized lost both in form and meaning so much that it is not always easy now to retruce them to their first origin. Thus e. g. Le Dispensier, subsequently known as Le Spencer, was origin- ally the dispensator or steward to the household. The officer who accompanied the conqueror be- came, of course, a great baron in England, and at the same time the founder of the illustrious house of Spenser, now represented by the Duke of Marlborough. Le Gros Venenr, anciently the chief huntsman to the Dukes of Normandy, founded in like manner the noble house of Gros- venor. Le Naper, now known as Napier, was the officer who took charge of the Dukes na- pery, his table-linen, etc. This derivation of the illustrious house of Napier is certainly less romantic than that which ascribes it to the grateful monarchs eulogy of his brave vassal, who, he said, had Na Peer, but, on the other hand, it has the advantage of being authentic. De la Ckanzbre, the first chamberlain known to England by that name, soon dwindled into Chambers in England, and the corresponding Chalmers in Scotland. The Summoner became plain Summer, the Falconer simple Faulkner, NAMES OF MEN. 55 and other French names were still worse treat- ed. The heroic Taillefer, who marched before the Conquerors host singing ancient war-songs, survives now onl,y as Telfair, while in Italy the name has softened into Tagliaferro, which, though they spell it still Taliaferro, they pro- noume in the Southern States as if it were writ- ten Toliver. The fair De Champ is now ill- sounding Shands, Belle Ch~re, taken from what Chaucer means when he says: For cosynage and eke for bele chere, is now unpleasantly suggestive as Beleher. Molyneux, in humble life, is written as well as pronounced Mullaicks and saintly Theobald is Tipple! Many Norman names, taken from the bear- ers native land or town, suffered in a way to make us tremble for many of our names. The Paganus became first a Paynim, and then, short- er still, Payne; the Genoese is now a Janeway; aTA ~rs~ man romYiog& tepe caY1stumseW~Xnck- step.. But the worst fate befell three men from three little towns~ one was called De Ath, and is now Death; another, De Ville, became brief- ly Devil; and the family of a third, from Scar- deville, branched into two linespeaceful Scar- fields and -terrible Scaredevils. By the side of such unmerciful treatment the most violent contractions in sound appear but trifling injuries done to a name. Th~ noble owners of Cholmondeley, Maijoribanks, and Tollemache may, after that, well bear their curtailment into Chumley, Marchbanks, and Talmash; and even the descendant of the Dan- ish monarchs cup-bearer, originally known as Schenke, and so called by Shakspeare and Dry- den, might be reconciled to his modern appella- tion of Skiuker. Families, moreover, were not the only suffer- ers by such violence. The names of towns and places, of public and private houses, even though of good old English origin, were in like manner ill-treated and changed beyond all power of recognition~ It might be pardonable, from the truthfulness of the description, to change St. Diacre into Sandy Acre, a parish in Derbyshire; and the Chartreuse, a former Carthusian con- vent of great renown, suppressed during the Reformation, into Charter House. There is no harm in changing Boulogne Mouth, the sign of a tavern much frequented by sailors from that locality, into Bull and Mouth; or La Belle Sauvage, the name of another inn, the lease of which had been granted to a Mrs. Isabella Sav- age, into Bell and Savage, although the picto- rial representations which accompany and em- body the names are enigmatic enough to puzzle the wisest of antiquarians. The frequenters of the famous ale-house, the Cat and Wheel, will be little disposed to quarrel with the owner because he substituted those simple words for the more pretentious Cathe~ine on the Wheel of his predecessor; and the Bag of Nails, a well-known public house in Pimlico, is deserv- edly more popular now than it was nader its classic name of Bacchanalia. But we think we have a right to complain when St. Mary on the Bournei. e., on the riveris travestied into Marylebone, as Old Bourne was into Holborne; and when the memory of the gentle St. Helena, whom our forefathers revered as Mincheons, is forgotten in the change from Mincheons Lane, a street that passed their an- cient house, into Mincing Lane. Few of us would recognize in the sign of George and Cannon a tribute to the fame of George Can- ning; or in the famous Goat and Compasses, in the eastern part of the city, the God Encom- passeth Us of the Puritans. Still less is it sus- pected by many admirers of that ancient play, Punch and Judy, that the names represent no- thing less than Ponties cam Jnda?is, a relic of an ancient Mystery taken from St. Matthew, xxviii. 19. Compound surnames are numerous, and oft- en ludicrous enough, when taken aside from $he iime nnZi circnmstances that hrst suggestea them. A Massnger ought ever to be a Catho- lic, singing holy mass; and a Shakelady would hardly be admitted into good society. how Doolittles get along in life is & mystery; a greater one yet, the patience with which men submit, generation after generation, to being called Gotobed, Stabback, or Popkiss. Total abstinence seems to have been a favorite idea from of old, if we may judge from the fondness of all nations for the name of Drinkwater, which reappears as Bevilacqua in Italy, and as Boilean in France. Sir Thomas Leatherbreeehes had weight enough to carry his uncomfortable name into the best society of England; and while Winspear has become a great name in Naples, Shakspeare is immortal. Our Puritan fathers, it is well known, indulged in a sad fancy for Scriptural names, which they used almost at hap-hazardan abuse which became downright unpardonable when it was extended to whole phrases. On Humes roll of a Sussex jury we find, among others, a Mr. Fight-the-good-fight- of-faith White, of Ewen; and a Mr. Kill-sin Pimple, of Witham. The most unfortunate bearer of such a name was probably the brother of the famous dealer in leather who presided over the Rump Parliament. His pious parents had had him christened as If-God-had-not- died-for-thee-thou-hadst-been-damned ; and as no mortal man could utter the whole name in sober earnest every time he spoke of or to the unlucky owner, he was universally known as Damned Barebones. Such vagaries are, however, by no means limited to one country or one epoch. The great dialectician Diodorus, in order to show that language ~vas the result of an arbitrary choice of words, and not a living organism, gave simple words as names to his slaves, call- ing one The, and another But. There was, of course, as little connection here between the name and the owner as there is between the poor slave on whom a masters caprice has be- stowed the name of a free and famous Roman.. A German author of considerable fame imposed, in this manner, his pseudonym of Posgaru for 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. many years on the world, which read his works aad believed in his name. He was enjoying already much reputation, even in England, as the successful translator of Manfred, before it was discovered that he had hid himself behind three Greek words ~ yc~ o~, meaning Why then not? Double names are not frequent among us; they occur mainly where Norman names have been Anglicized. Thus we have dAnton and Danton, dAubry and Dohree, dAubeny and Daubeny. Other foreign names have been trans- lated and modified. The French Le Blond reappears as English Fairfax, and mutilated, Blount or Bland. The German Schwarz is sometimes Black, and sometimes Swart or Swarts; Klein is Little, or Small, or Kline. In Canada a village arose on lands belonging to a Mr. Shepherd, and after him was called Shepherdville; the French Canadians immedi- ately translated this into Bergerville. Aftcr a while the English element prevailed for a time, and remodeled the name into Beggarville, until the French once more rechristened the unlucky village as Village des Qu~tenrs. A curious class of double names belongs to families who hear them on the pretext of an alias. Documents abound in which the same name occurs, not once only, which might be the effect of an acci- dent, but each time accompanied by its shadow. Thus, under the date of 1535, already we meet with a Ricardus Jackson, alias Kenerden. In Scotland the custom prevailed for some time to use the Gaelic name with the English trans- lation superadded. Men called themselves MTavish alias Thomson, MCalmon alias Dow, or Gow alias Smith. Hence, probably, arose thu eccentric and otherwise inexplicable cus- tom of some families to write themselves by one name and to call themselves by another, as is the case with the Enroughtys, who are called Derby. The alias was gradually omitted, and the two names remained to be used for two dis- tinct purposes. As the oldest coats of arms in the nobility of almost all countries are the simplest, consisting generally but of a single device, so the oldest names also may be presumed to have been ex- tremely simple. Nomen oli,n apud ornaes fere gentes sioplex, says an excellent authority on the subject. Notwithstanding this prestige, howev- er, there seems to have prevailed, from olden times, a dislike to very short and simple names. We know that when Diodes became Emperor he felt called upon to lengthen his name to Dio- clesian. Lucian mentions a man called Simon, who, having now gotten a little wealth, changed his name to Simonides, for that there were so ,many beggars of his kin, and set the house on fire in which he was born, so that nobody should point it out. Early French historians tell us of Bruna, who became queen of that kingdom, ~vhen it was thought proper to convey something of royal pomp to her name, and she was called Brunehault. It is a similar reason which in- duces the popes to change their names as soon as the fishermans ring is put upon their finger a custom observed ever since the name of one of their number, Sergius, which meant Hogs mouth, made this necessary for decencys sake. In England, also, the change is not unfrequent, though a happy excuse was there made for short names by worthy John Cuts. He was aft opu- lent citizen of London, to whose house and care a Spanish embassador had been assigned. The proud Spaniard complained officially of his hosts shortness of name, which he thought disparaging to his honor. But, says Fuller, when he found that his hospitality had no- thing monosyllabic in it, he groaned only at the utterance of the name of his host. An entire change of name was not unknown to our forefathers even. Camden tells us that they were frequent in his time, to modify the ridiculous, lest the bearer should seeme villified by them. We all know why our friend Smith writes himself Smythe or Smeeth, and Mr. Tay- lor has become Mr. Tayleure. It is of the lat- ter that Mr. Lower tells the following good sto- ry: A Mr. Taylor, who had been mollified into Tayleure, asked a farmer, haughtily, the name of his dog. The answer was: Why, Sir, his proper name is Jowler, but since hes a conse- quential kind of a guppy we calls him Jowleure. If Plato was right in exhorting parents to give happy names to their children, because the minds, actions, and successes of men depended not on their genius and fate only, hut also on their names, then we can certainly not blame those who desire to rid themselves of an ill- omened surname. Hence we can sympathize with poor Mr. Death, of Massachusetts, who pe- titioned the Court to change his name to Dick- inson, and we do so all the more readily be- cause malicious Fate would have it that the member who presented the petition was a Mr. Graves. A Mr. Wormwood supported his more ambitious desire to assume the name of Wash- ington by the argument that no member of taste would oppose his request, and that the in- tense sufferings of so many years of Wormwood existence deserved the compensation of a great and glorious name. SALLYS DISAPPOINTMENT. IT was just at the close of a June day, while the vesper-sparrows trilled their evening hymns, that John Thoresby came across the fields to the farm of Squire Dodge. The air was perfumed with clover and fainter wood- scents that blew up from the fringe of timber- land skirting the village, and as John walked on he now and then stooped to pull the ghost of a dandelion from which its glory had departed, blowing its threads of gossamer thither and you, as he had been usect to do when a boya fatal test whether or no he was wanted at home. But just now his thoughts wandered abroad; his fate, as it were, hung on these fine threads; if Sally wanted him they would break like a bubble and scatter at the first full breath, other-

Mary N. Prescott Prescott, Mary N. Sally's Disappointment 56-66

56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. many years on the world, which read his works aad believed in his name. He was enjoying already much reputation, even in England, as the successful translator of Manfred, before it was discovered that he had hid himself behind three Greek words ~ yc~ o~, meaning Why then not? Double names are not frequent among us; they occur mainly where Norman names have been Anglicized. Thus we have dAnton and Danton, dAubry and Dohree, dAubeny and Daubeny. Other foreign names have been trans- lated and modified. The French Le Blond reappears as English Fairfax, and mutilated, Blount or Bland. The German Schwarz is sometimes Black, and sometimes Swart or Swarts; Klein is Little, or Small, or Kline. In Canada a village arose on lands belonging to a Mr. Shepherd, and after him was called Shepherdville; the French Canadians immedi- ately translated this into Bergerville. Aftcr a while the English element prevailed for a time, and remodeled the name into Beggarville, until the French once more rechristened the unlucky village as Village des Qu~tenrs. A curious class of double names belongs to families who hear them on the pretext of an alias. Documents abound in which the same name occurs, not once only, which might be the effect of an acci- dent, but each time accompanied by its shadow. Thus, under the date of 1535, already we meet with a Ricardus Jackson, alias Kenerden. In Scotland the custom prevailed for some time to use the Gaelic name with the English trans- lation superadded. Men called themselves MTavish alias Thomson, MCalmon alias Dow, or Gow alias Smith. Hence, probably, arose thu eccentric and otherwise inexplicable cus- tom of some families to write themselves by one name and to call themselves by another, as is the case with the Enroughtys, who are called Derby. The alias was gradually omitted, and the two names remained to be used for two dis- tinct purposes. As the oldest coats of arms in the nobility of almost all countries are the simplest, consisting generally but of a single device, so the oldest names also may be presumed to have been ex- tremely simple. Nomen oli,n apud ornaes fere gentes sioplex, says an excellent authority on the subject. Notwithstanding this prestige, howev- er, there seems to have prevailed, from olden times, a dislike to very short and simple names. We know that when Diodes became Emperor he felt called upon to lengthen his name to Dio- clesian. Lucian mentions a man called Simon, who, having now gotten a little wealth, changed his name to Simonides, for that there were so ,many beggars of his kin, and set the house on fire in which he was born, so that nobody should point it out. Early French historians tell us of Bruna, who became queen of that kingdom, ~vhen it was thought proper to convey something of royal pomp to her name, and she was called Brunehault. It is a similar reason which in- duces the popes to change their names as soon as the fishermans ring is put upon their finger a custom observed ever since the name of one of their number, Sergius, which meant Hogs mouth, made this necessary for decencys sake. In England, also, the change is not unfrequent, though a happy excuse was there made for short names by worthy John Cuts. He was aft opu- lent citizen of London, to whose house and care a Spanish embassador had been assigned. The proud Spaniard complained officially of his hosts shortness of name, which he thought disparaging to his honor. But, says Fuller, when he found that his hospitality had no- thing monosyllabic in it, he groaned only at the utterance of the name of his host. An entire change of name was not unknown to our forefathers even. Camden tells us that they were frequent in his time, to modify the ridiculous, lest the bearer should seeme villified by them. We all know why our friend Smith writes himself Smythe or Smeeth, and Mr. Tay- lor has become Mr. Tayleure. It is of the lat- ter that Mr. Lower tells the following good sto- ry: A Mr. Taylor, who had been mollified into Tayleure, asked a farmer, haughtily, the name of his dog. The answer was: Why, Sir, his proper name is Jowler, but since hes a conse- quential kind of a guppy we calls him Jowleure. If Plato was right in exhorting parents to give happy names to their children, because the minds, actions, and successes of men depended not on their genius and fate only, hut also on their names, then we can certainly not blame those who desire to rid themselves of an ill- omened surname. Hence we can sympathize with poor Mr. Death, of Massachusetts, who pe- titioned the Court to change his name to Dick- inson, and we do so all the more readily be- cause malicious Fate would have it that the member who presented the petition was a Mr. Graves. A Mr. Wormwood supported his more ambitious desire to assume the name of Wash- ington by the argument that no member of taste would oppose his request, and that the in- tense sufferings of so many years of Wormwood existence deserved the compensation of a great and glorious name. SALLYS DISAPPOINTMENT. IT was just at the close of a June day, while the vesper-sparrows trilled their evening hymns, that John Thoresby came across the fields to the farm of Squire Dodge. The air was perfumed with clover and fainter wood- scents that blew up from the fringe of timber- land skirting the village, and as John walked on he now and then stooped to pull the ghost of a dandelion from which its glory had departed, blowing its threads of gossamer thither and you, as he had been usect to do when a boya fatal test whether or no he was wanted at home. But just now his thoughts wandered abroad; his fate, as it were, hung on these fine threads; if Sally wanted him they would break like a bubble and scatter at the first full breath, other- SALLYS DISAPPOINTMENT. 57 wisewell, if they didnt, he forswore the faith of his childhood. However, it rather bespoke humility in him that he should have had any doubts about the matter, since he had been going with Sally, on and off ever since he could remember. He had a handsome face, a good Dame, a large farm, and kept the district school every winter; besides, Sally was the only girl in all the place that he would look at, as the saying went, though they were not few who looked at him and were obliged to look away again. Nevertheless he had hesitated too long, as prudence told himhe remembered vaguely some old saw to the purpose that faint heart never won fair lady; which, together with the appearance of a rival on the tapis, urged him to delay no longer. And who was this presumptuous rival step- ping in between Sally and himself, whom the village threat, that if he flirted with Sally Dodge John Thoresby would be in his hair, only moved to laughter? It was none other than a born gentleman, as the girls dubbed him, ordered by his physician into the salubrious country to breathe dew-strained air and drink new milk. To be sure, there were those who heartily disbelieved either in his gentle birth or weak lungs, who did not scruple to declare him of the ilk who live by their wits; but as these were usually of his own sex, it didnt matter much to him or any one else. With the rich bloom of his complexion, the daring brilliancy of coal-black eyes, the ripe lips that gave an ac- cent of tenderness to the veriest nothings, the flash of white teeth, the hands dainty as a wo- mans, the grace of manner that expresses so much more than it intends, he might well have subjugated a more sophisticated circle of young girls, and given a pang to the hearts of more secure lovers. As it was, he became the ninety- and-nine days gossip; no tea-drinking, no pic- nic was complete without him; so that it was scarcely surprising that such remarks as, A born gentleman! Acts like a born tool 1 Handsome is that handsome does! THand- some! Do you call him handsome? hes got a horrid nose! were of frequent occurrence from neglected swains. Having flirted desperately with each rustic nymph, and raised in the bosom of each as magnificent visions of a city home, servants, silver, eqnipage, and what not, as their uncultivated imaginations could suggest, he had of late bidden adieu to caprice and become the very devoted slave of Sally Dodge. While John Thoresby strode onward his mind was full of these things. To love Sally seemed to him so much a matter of course that it hard- ly appeared worth while to tell her of it. Still he was uneasy; she was a mortal, and though certainly not as fallible as other maidens, of whom he could count a score, ready to go to the worlds end with his rival, yet what might not a dashing exterior accomplish to his preju- dice? After all, thought he, perhaps I am reckoning without my host. Who knows if it is any thing more than friendliness she has shown me? Or if Philip Kingsdown is not more according to her desert than I ? Which reflections in no wise tended to retard his steps or shake his resolution. As he turned into a little wooded space, inter- vening between the house and the fields through which he had passed, the murmur of voices smote upon his ear, followed by laughter like a peal of bells, while through the dusk two forms parted the boughs beside him and went onward, dropping on the wind as they went snatches of song that stole back to him, till echo caught and carried them like some precious spell through all the listening wood. He had paused in the shadow of the trees, straining his wild eyes aft- er their retreating figures, with Sallys name unuttered on his lip, and as he leaned heavily against the nearest support a legion of despe- rate resolutions whirled across his brain; he would follow, and Sally should choose between them, now and forever; he would sell his farm and go to Australia, and never see or think of her again, he wouldwhat would he not do? But oh, if she did not care for him, it was all in vain, Australia or Nova Zembla were no nearer happiness than Blossomborough; happi- ness, that had perched on his palm but yester- day perhaps, while he neglected to close his hand over it! Still at last he gathered up his faculties and pursued his way to Squire Dodges door. There sat Mrs. Dodge knitting in the porch; there was her husband a step beyond, wear the orchard-paling, discussing the latest news with a neighbor. The scene would have been charm- ing, with the crescent of the young moon duski- ly illuminating it, but for the omission of one figure that could alone give grace and romance to the view. Good-evening, Mrs. .~Dodge, said John. Where is Sally? Oh, John, is that you? Sally? Shes got to be just like one of these fire-flies; shes whisked off this minute with that whats-his- name, to have a moonlight stroll, as he called it. They will have to be quick, for the moon is going down fast. The quicker the better for me, added John, with a forced laugh. Mrs. Dodge eyed him over her spectacles. Girls ~vill be girls, said she, consolingly. I dont mind owning up to doing a little flirting myself when I was a girl; it was worth walking a mile with a blockhead, just to see Dodges eyes when he came to know it. Ab, Mrs. Dodge, Im afraid Sally inherits. Yes, yes: shes a chip of the old block. But you sit down a while; shell be along soon. I told her not to walk far in the dew. So he sat down upon the steps, while Mrs. Dodge gave the reins to memory, and related the many hair-breadth escapes from matrimony she had suffered, together with items of minor in- terest to make the time speed; but still no Sally. I guess she has stepped in somewhere, re 58 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. marked her mother. The moon went wander- ing into tlie west out of sight, and left the stars to follow at their own sweet wills; the tree-toad quavered his serenade unflinchingly; the little bubbling brook grew melodious at having all the world to listenbut no Sally came to render the charm complete. With every moment Johns heart grew heavier oh, what delayed her? Somewhere he felt, underneath this very heav- en, this stranger wooed his darling while he sat idle. Mrs. Dodge had fallen asleep in her chair, with th~ last reminiscence unfinished, and by the detached sentences she now and again dropped from out the land of dreams: it was plain she lived it all over again, word for word, that in that country she was always young. John rose, and walked down the lane hesitating- ly; if he were to go now, after waiting solong, and miss her by a minute! lie walked back, and Sally met him alone at the doorway. Sally Oh! Is it you, John? I didnt see any one. You are quite a stranger, I declare, she added. I had hoped never to be a stranger to you, Sally. Oh no, of course not, John; you are my oldest friend. There was something ominous in this, he felt. Friend, he repeated, I thought to be something dearer than that, Sally; that some time you mightlove meis itis ittoo late ? It mightperhapsI dont know she answered; but you did not speak, andto- night I am promised. It never occurred to him that any protest on his part would signify; that for weeks she had been daily worsted in a dra~vn-battle between her affections and her ambition; and she per- haps fancied him lukewarm, when he merely left a kiss on her forehead without reproof. So John Thoresby went home to try and for- get Sally; at least to set her memory in some sacred niche of his heart, and go about his busi- ness as if it ~vere not there burdening each mo- ment of his life. But he found forgetfulness no easy craft; the waters of Lethe are guarded by what invulnerable dragons! He grew diligent upon his farm, he set himself to repairing fences, to trying ne~v seeds, to introducing a thousand improvements, to studying attentively every bodys theory of agriculture; he worked ~vith a will at whatever his hands found to do, but whether he swung his scythe in the.fragrant meadow lands, or made the solemn woods an- sxver with a thousand voices to the ringing of his axe, or hoed potatoes hour by hour, his mind ~vas pretty sure to be pictt~e-making at Squire Dodges; and at evening, when fatigue unnerved him and recreation was wanting, what better could he do with his thoughts than give them leave to visit Sally, since he might no longer go himself? Was he not a prosaic lover though, to hoe potatoes instead of ~vriting poetry? I dare say his plan was the healthier. Presently it came out that Sally Dodge was engaged to Philip Kingsdown; for in a place like Blossomborough, one knows ones neighbors busi- ness better than ones own, an~ usually pays more attention to it; and when John came in to tea one evening, he was regaled with a broadside of gossip concerning it from a friend, who, un- der cover of dropping in to drink tea with his mother in neighborly fashion, had come to spy out the poverty of the land. Umph ! said she; quite a catch for Sally, I expect. Is it? Now dont you go to being cut up about it, John Thoresby; theres jist as good fish in the sea as ever was caught. Only one must have bait, said he, attempt- ing to be facetious. Now, its a curious fact, she continued, that I aint spoke with a girl under thirty-five who can see for the life of em what Kingsdowu sees in Sally Dodge, and they were jist as short- sighted when you was waiting upon her; and that reminds mehow came you and her to flare up? I never heard that we did. Sally and I are good friends. Now, that beats all. Mrs. Jones told Mrs. Jenkins that her sister-in-la~v heard some one say over at Mr. Arnolds that you went to see Sally one night when shed gone out with Kings- down; and how you walked up and down the gravel-path and stormed about it to Mrs. Dodge was a caution; and how, by-and-by, you cooled down, and when Sally came home you had ~vords with her a spell, and she xvent in and slammed the door, and you shook your fist in the air and marched off. Its not true, returned John. I told em so! And whats more, I told em that I didnt want to hear no more of their scandal, for a dog that will fetch a bone will carry one. You seen the things Kingsdowns given Tier? No. Well, he give her an elegant ring with a great pearl in it, only shes lost it out, ~vhich dont look well for the match. Certainly not for the ring, interrupted John. Then hes give her a braceletreal Guinea goldand a brooch, and a pattern muslin. Now, between us, I wouldnt have took the gownd; youre like to wear those sort of.things, you know; and if she should quarrel thered be nothing but a rag to send back. There was Sue Morris, for instancedidnt young Taylor give her k silk gownd that cost every cent of ten dollars when he was a-keeping company with her, I should like to know? And didnt she put it on, and slat it out jist as if silk grew on every bush? And when her and Taylor flared up, what does his mother do but writes her a note, a-telling her she should like that silk gownd her son was so silly as to give her. Well, you see, SALLYS DISAPPOINTMENT. 59 it was all in strings, so Sue jist sends her back ten dollars, and sixty cents interest. Poor John! those were dolorous days for him. Go where he would, Sally Dodge and Philip Kingsdown were the burden of every song; their happiness seemed to pursue him like a Nemesis; at the post-office, in the street, even at church, people appeared to put themselves out to talk to him about them. They would not let him be silent; they plied him with questions; they sounded him with fantastic conjectures; they falsified for him the adage that a mans house is his castle. Was he gathering fruit in his or- chard, neighbor Jones mustered into the serv- ice, and gathered, at the same time, whatever trifling remarks on the all-absorbing theme John chanced to let fall; was he repairing a gate, neighbor Jenkins did not fail to repair to the spot in order to taste of the cup which cheers but not inebriates; did he water old Quicksil- vet, Miss Earl was alert with her bucket, eager to quench the thirst of a too-inquiring mind by an adroit use of the pump. He had made a plan, at odd moments, of the improvements which he had intended to com- plete upon the old homestead, at such time as Sally should signify her readiness to share it with him; a cozy bow-window here, a veranda there; in his minds eye it was all finished, even to the pretty lattice and the wayward vine trem- bling in the breeze and throwing its tesselating shadow on the flooreven to the dainty figure at work there, or the two resting at twilight in the embowered veranda, while the stars glinted between like blossoms of the vine that had bloom- ed at their approach. Well, it was high time that he should play the part of the iconoclast, and shatter these idolatrous images; he could burn the plansthat were easily donebut what weapon was immaterial enough to annihilate thoughts and feelings? You may be sure he did not ask himself any such questions, but went about his endeavor with such weapons as he had at hand, with axe and hoe and hammer and scythe,, till experience taught him that they were inadequate to the end. The few novels he had rend told of disappointed lovers taking to the desperate ways of faro and the Seine; but it was all Greek to him; he could no more understand the love that is not noble enough to keep the lover virtuous than he could under- stand a play of Euripides. His love was to him an angel having charge concerning him. As for Sally, she felt as if she had held the winning card and discarded it. If John hadnt seemed so resigned, she said to herself if he had seemed to take it harderif he had looked as Philip did when I hesitated, aud said such splendid thingswhybut he didnt. And aft- er all, its pleasanter to be loved greatly than to love; at any rate, it isnt so troublesome, she added, remembering sundry jealousies she had entertained at a time when Johns pretty cousin came to Blossomborough. So she shut the door on the past, albeit twas of unseasoned stuff and wouldnt close, and gave herself up to present pleasure and hrillitsnt an- ticipations of the future. Every one said: How handsome Sally Dodge is growing ! How her eyes sparkle I How her color flits ! How lively she is ! They positively believed love was the talisman that had brought it all to passand wasnt it so? Its no use crying over spilt milk, she would persuade herself. If I were to break with Philip now, how would John know it was becausebecausepshaw l Besides, is it worth while ? Therefore she tried to fancy herself in love with Philip, to write him sentimental notes, to keep his picture beneath her pillow, to shut her eyes when she found weakness where she had been used to meet strength, to believe herself romantic when she was only ambitious. Once, when Sally came trip,ping home from an errand across the little river that sang like a siren all through the landscape of Blossom- borough, there was John Thoreshy leaning over the parapet and gazing into the stream with the air of one who dreams. Since he was so utter- ly oblivious of her ladyships presence she had half the mind to leave him unmolested, when vanity, absurdly enough, suggested that, maybe, he contemplated sadderthings. So: Do you believe in mermaids, John ? I did once, he replied, looking up with a cheerfulness that relieved at the same time that it chilled her. I do believe she would have liked him to be a trifle melancholy, just short of the dangerous. No one enjoys having a re- jected suitor console himself in a fortnight. Well, continued she, if it were not a mermaid, ~vhat was it that engrossed you ? A land-maid perhaps, he returned, very veraciously. Oh, very likely. Do you remember when we used to launch a chip just here, called the Lively Sally, and send it on a voyage of discov- ery to the North Pole ? Ah yes; it was always the Lively Sally, Captain Thoresby. It must have foundered. Who has heard of it since ? Oh, doubtless it put into some port for re- pairs, and was pronounced unsenworthy. We shall find it one day, high and dry on the beach, cracked and seamed and blistering in the sun. A ~vreck of itself. A wreck of itself; and I suppose the crew of beetles are jolly tars by this, and its cargo of clover-heads have gone to grass. Why didnt we have an insurance ? It would have been good policy. Certainly. But good-by! See, the sun is setting. When she had gone some distance a back- ward glance assured her that his eyes still fol- lo~ved her. How long it was before she met their smile again! Shortly after this old Mrs. Thoresby said I good-by to her son, and journeyed alone to the land of the Hereafter. John felt as if the storms of misfortune were gatherii~g about him. 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The old house that had been so pleasant to him grew distasteful; the lonesome, deserted rooms had only shadows to welcome him; his meals were like a hermits. No longer bound by ex- pectation or affection to Blossomborough he re- solved to leave it, and accordingly the inhabit- ants were electrified one morning by the fact that the Thoresby Farm was for sale. Ev- ery bodys eyes and ears expanded to their ut- most; it almost took away their breath; and for one, Miss Earl delayed not a moment to toss on her sun-bonnet and happen in at Square Dodges to see how the land laynot that she wanted to buy, however. Wheres John Thoresby bound to? she es- sayed, after the first greetings were exchanged. His farms advertised, sures Im alive. You neednt tell me there aint nobody at the bottom of it, shaking her head at Sally, whose heart gave a wild leap and shook her like a reed. Cant one sell a farm without something being in the wind ? returned Sally, quietly. Not unless its to raise the wind, and thats not Johns fix. Well, Im not in Mr. Thoresbys confidence, Miss Earl. Im afraid I cant give you any in- formation on that subject. Aint ye, though? Why you and him usetl to be as thick as cream. Theres Miss Pike her folks used to reckon upon having you next door, sure as rates. Says she to me, says she, When John gits married I suppose Sarah and him will live in the old place, an I shall be right glad when its done; for I shouldnt like some girls that I know of for neighbors, that havent got the broughter~ up of Sarah Dodge. Im sorry to disappoint Mrs. Pike, said Sally. I guess she aint the only disappointed one.~, Oh! Wheres Mr. Kingsdown ? Seems to me I dont see him round. lie has gone fishing up the river. Above the bridge? Pity he didnt go tother day and ketch you and John a-chatting together there; I reckon thered bin a pretty kettle of fish. How did you know I met John on the bridge ? Oh, a little bird told me ! A little busy-body, I should say. And Miss Earl, having verified one item of rumor and expounded another, took her com- placent departure. No one in Blossomborough knewthough it was certainly no ones faultwhither John Thoresby went: he took no one into his confi- dence, he asked no advice; it was plain to him that if he were to live without Sally it must be away from dear old Blossomborough; and so he turned his back on it, and went out into the great whirling world beyond, without the high hopes and romantic imaginings that have up- held and inspirited many a youth on the same desolate pathway, but not without many a si- lent prayer against the power of temptation, which, perhaps, served him better than legions of brittle resolutions. Fortune favors the brave, we hear; and, per- haps, having lost foothold in his affections by her untoward behavior, she at last decided to turn over a new leaf, in order to win John Thoresby to herself; for true it is that hence- forth she showed him a smiling face; she beck- oned him over rivers and seas, across mountains and plains; she revealed to him the secrets of the soil; she endowed him with the miraculous touch of King Midas, with some notable excep- tions; she hung an amulet about him that pre- served from ill; indeed, she seemed only to keep her wonderful wheel revolving that it might spin his straw into shining gold. As for himself, he received prosperity with a sort of indiffer- ence; it was welcome to stay with him, it was as welcome to go: it resembled the elixir of life with the living essence left out; it was sim- ply insipid: he would doubtless have preferred to hobnob with adventure, and entangle himself in the underbrush of variable circumstances. He met with elegant and accomplished women by s6oreswomen with fascinations that might well have placed rustic graces in the back- ground, but whose most sparkling coquetries failed to obscure for an instant the recollections of one simple village girl; but he thought of her now as Mrs. Kingsdown, living the same lux- urious life as these creatures about him; he thought, with regret, how her cordial manners had perhaps stiffened into conventionalisms, her pretty arts rounded themselves into the intrigues of fashion; he never thought of her as disappoint- ed, wronged, faded, and sufferinghow could he? Down in Blossomborough time carried other changes: not long after John Thoresbys de- parture Philip Kingsdown, perhaps, finding the course of true love running too smooth for ro- mance or excitement, and his health reinstated, wrote some namby-pamby verses to Sally on the state of his heart and the rough usage he re- ceived from Fate in being obliged to leave that essential organ behind him, whistled, If I had but ten thousand a year, and bade Sally good- by, silencing her expostulations with promises of frequent bulletins and a speedy return. She looked after him, as he swung carelessly down the road, with some pride in her heart, the fig- ure was so lithe and graceful, but certainly with no tear in her eyes, because it was so dear; saw him clamber to the top of the waiting stage- coach, kiss his hand, and wave his handkerchief heard the driver crack his whip, the impatient horses break into a gallop, and directly they were all a blur in the distance. And then it happened that Sallys trials com. menced, that her pride resolved itself into cha- grin, that Philips name brought the blush his voice could never provoke; then it was that the measure she had meted was measured to her, running overshe had given deceit, she must receive the same; she had sowed the. wind, here was the bitter, piercing whirlwind; then, if she SALLYS DISAPPOINTMENT. 61 had loved him, her heart might have broken. Week after week she watched the postman on his rounds, at first with smiling assurance; but later, when the hour approached, she withdrew to her own room and questioned fate through the chinks of the blinds; and whenever the stage lumbered into town, dusty and creaking, and discharged its cargo, not even Miss Earls eyes vouchsafed the passengers more minute scrutiny; it was a lottery in which she daily invested her diminishing faith, and as daily drew a blank. Now and then an unsuspicious neighbor would ask, What do you hear from Mr. Kingsdown, Sally ? Now and then a ma- licious one brought her a bonne bouche of the gossip which resembles the rolling stone that gathers no moss in nothing excepting its mo- tion. When she went out it was under peril from a masked battery of eyesshe had heard that walls have earsshe knew, to her cost, that blinds had eyes. Sometimes Miss Earl brought blundering consolation in the assurance that, sooner or later, Philip Kingsdown would get his come-upance. Justice is justice, was a favorite aphorism of her own, and justice will take place, sooner or later. But all this no way eased the smart that van- ity had received, nor broke the fall of pride. She had looked to he among the first in the land, to ride in her carriage, to feed on the roses and lilies of life, to be a leader of fashion, nnd star it in the social world; for although Squire Dodge was among the best of Blossom- boroughthe gentry of the place, as Miss Earl impressed upon all strangersstill Sally was aware of a sphere beyond Blossomborough in which she aspired to shine; and maybe she had figured. to herself the report rumor would be sure to carry to her native town of her splendor; a very weak and miserable pride, no doubt, but one in which many a girl with more brought- en up than Sally has indulged. So a few years passed, and the two young men who had stirred Blossomborough to its centre had drifted at last almost completely out of its everyday, homespun life. When the blow was fresh upon Sally she had rejoiced that John Thoresby. was nowhere near to wit- ness her degradation, as she chose to think it; hoped she might never see his face again; but by-and-by she began to long for his cordial companionship without confessing it to herself, however; there was a void in her life for which Philip Kingsdown was scarcely responsible. Sometimes the newspapers spoke of a Mr. Thoresby, and the villagers wondered if it were John, when he was at the other end of the world; sometimes his name turned up among the marriages, and they turned up their eyes and questioned if he had wherewithal upon which to support a wife; sometimes it fixed them from among the list of deaths, and their eyes wandered instinctively in the direction of the pleasant Thoresby farm and two white slabs in the mossy church-yard, and they fell to speak- ing of his genial ways and his frank, handsome countenance, and to reviving the days when they had seen him passing to and fro, the boy- ish lover of Sally Dodge. Sometimes, indeed, the name of Kingsdown flourished in a report of some wedding among the ton, or made a handsome figure on a subscription list; but whether or no it were that scamp Kings- down was a subject of serious conjecture. Meanwhile the maggot of ambition, having wQrked mischief with Sally, invaded Squire Dodges brain one spring morning; he had spent part of the previous winter as delegate to the General Court, and, life that was life, had opened his eyes, as he said, to momentous opportunities ; it inspired him with a haste to get rich, with a sublime faith in speculations and his own business capacities. Nowadays he was always off to the city, always returning with his hat full of mysterious documents, always eagerly scanning the daily news, engrossed in interminable calculations, and as inflammable in temper as though he were afflicted with the gout. He allowed the planting season to leave him in the lurch, his fences and out-buildings to go to wreck and ruin, and gave his cattle carte blanche of the premises. Mrs. Dodge scolded, Sally expostulated, the neighbors spied and meddled, but he pursued his way rejoicing and confident. Miss Earl sagely prophesied that Square Dodge would come out at the little end of the horn one day ; but whether she referred to either horn of a dilemma or that of a cornucopia was not apparent, though the reflection seemed to afford immense compensa- tion for her baffled curiosity. Heigh-ho, neighbor Dodge, shouted Mr. Jenkins, leaning over the front gate, which thre~ttened to collapse beneath him, seems to me we aint as spruce as usual. We dont pine about it, answered the Squire, making an effort worthy of the occa- sion. Ha, ha; I say, neighbor, your orchards a sight to behold. Dont look at it then. Them canker-worms are giving you a lift agin harvest-time. Cankerworms? I havent seen any.~~ Cracky! where do you keep your eyes ? On my own affairs. Good! Rither far-sighted, aint ye ? Not quite so much so as some of my neigh- bors. Well, I advise you to look through their spectacles a spell. Theyd give me the blind staggers. Theyd show you a spectacle, Square. Well, Jenkins, theres one thing a body dont need glasses to see, and thats a meddler. Good-morning. And Jenkins departed in high dudgeon, of course. Its a long lane that has tio turn, as Miss Earl remarked, privately, with regard to her own unrewarded efforts to get at the gist of Squire Dodges affairs rather than to any desire 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. she entertained for reformation therein; and competent seamstress; here those who would true it is that Blossomborough waxed feverish overlook her want of a recommendation found in its pulse one day when it transpired that two fault with her execution. Wherever she turned strangers had come down in the morning stage, for aid the fiat mene, mene confronted her with spent some hours closeted with Squire Dodge, visible letters of flame, burning into her life and had departed late in the afternoon, leav- itself. Thus they dragged on a pitiful exist- ing the Squire delving among a heap of papers, ence; to-day elated by some prospect of a dreary apparently, till, when Sally stole softly in to drudgery of the needle, to-morrow bowed be- ~summon him to tea, she found him bowed over neath defeat. One by one the visions Hope the waste, dead like his hopes and ambitions. had painted grew dim in this atmosphere of Here was a fine piece of work for the gossips, penury, stepped sternly out of sight, while who already resembled wreckers reaching out ghastly forebodings came to take their places. remorseless hands for each precious stranded Her mother, broken in health and mind, some- morsel, loth that any should escape them. times spent whole weeks in bed, sometimes rose There were a thousand explanations abroad, a and insisted upon doing a portion of the work, thousand surmises; whether or no Sally and which Sally as often was obliged to undo, with her mother would wear the deepest mourning, aching eyes and patient fingers. While they and if it would be becoming; whether the waged continual warfare with famine here, the Squire had left a will, and if Mrs. Dodge would deep blue autumn skies reminded them of bar- be likely to marry again at her age; whether vest-days at homedays of unappreciated ease they would sell the place or farm it at the and plenty, when their bins were overflowing as halves; or, in short, what they would do, and their hospitalities, and their orchards lavish of how they would do it. That he had left a luscious wealth; days when the odor of pre- competency to his heirs was the unanimous serves was regnant, while the lucent jellies fil- opinion; imagine, then, what direful consterna- tered themselves into colored crystals, and the tion ensued when it was found that he had great pans of milk in the dairy gathered rich- swamped every thing in his too eager clutch at ness in idleness; days that needed only a pass- a slippery bubble. ing breath from a confectioners near to revive I told you so ! ejaculated Miss Earl. themselves, till Mrs. Dodge sought consolation I knowed how it would eend ! squeaked in the tattered leaves of a receipt-book, that by Mr. Jenkins. Twas as plain as a mans nose~ some chance remained to her. on his face ! cried the neighborhood in concert. Theres constitution cake, she would say. After the first agony was passed Sally be- I used to make that when I expected folks at stirred herself and began to make plans for the camp-meeting time, because it was hearty; and future; scant room for castle-building was here, Sally, heres that very cup cake Ive baked so that glorious compensation for the trials of often when Mr. Bliss was on the circuit. I young and old. There were those even in I baked it in hearts and rounds; he thought they Blossomborough who were not slow to offer were so much more tempting than a slice. her a home; but Sally from among her earth- Dont you remember how we used to call it ly goods had saved a dismal remnant of pride. Bliss cake at home ? Besides, she had some idea what such depend- Oh! did we ? ence might be like; so, gathering together Yes; and some folks called him Earthly their slender means, she and her mother, shat- Bliss, he was so fond of tid-bits. One pound tered and enfeebled by the shock, pursued their butter, nine eggsno; where was I? Oh! isolated path outside of Blossomborough, dim- five eggswhat a hen the cropple-crown was ly feeling that where so much of their own had for laying! She laid all winter once, if youll been lost something might perhaps be found. believe it; only in summer time she would lay It was not quite the first time Sally had made away, all we could do. Dont you know how acquaintance with this plausible world. Now she marched into the yard one day, as grand as and again she had been to the neighboring Cuffy, with twelve chickens shed hatched on cities, on heydays and holidays, for a little the sly ? shopping or a visit. She knew something of And thus she would beguile herself with frag- its thoroughfares, of its inns; very little of its meats of the past, so commonplace at the time, customs and its pitfalls. They took lodgings so precious in retrospection. But Sallys retro- in an obscure quarter, of which she remem- spections were of a somewhat different order. hered to have heard her father speak as respect- Day after day the happy, careless years, when able and cheap; and with visions of a comfort- John Thoresby was her ever-present thought able home, the fruit of her own exertions, Sally and companion, passed like some court pageant spent weeks in a diligent search for employ- in review before her. It was the one poem of ment. Poor child, how many unsuspected her life, the thrilling romance that she knew lions stayed her steps toward the Palace of In- by heart, which she could take up at any chap- dustry! She found herself, with dismay, an- ter, in any company, in the midst of whatever fitted for almost every species of work; the toil, and forget the meagre Now and its belong- energy which she had wielded with credit at ings. It was a volume always open beneath home upon a farm was ill adapted to the emerg- her eyes, the moral of which ran If you had encies of a city. She had fancied herself a listened to reason and John Thoresby. There SALLYS DIS~LPPOINTMENT. 63 were times when the persistent wind appropria- ted the very airs, sweet and flute-like, she had heard John whistle on rare June mornings. Sometimes it soughed in the long metre of the hymn tunes they had nsed to sing together at singing-school; the little crazy clock ticked his name, like some spiritual manifestation; the trip-hammers across the way sprang to the horn- pipe which she had first danced with him; no strange voice on the stairs but gave an impetus to her sluggish blood; no knock at her door but sent the heart into her mouth. Having been more than usually successful one week, on Saturday night she brought home a new pair of shoes to replace the patched and slipshod leather rags she was shuffling about in with infinite discomfiture; she was trying them on wearily, as she did every thing nowadays, and thinking how Somebody had once said the foot was pretty, when suddenly, by what chance, her own name, printed in large type in the news- paper in which the shoes had been wrapped, ar- rested her. If a policeman had touched her sig- nificantly and said, My prisoner, Miss Sarah Dodge! she could no more have doubted her own cognomen, or been more inclined to dis- pute it: still, there it was; it did not fade away, nor was it written in sympathetic ink that the heat of imagination might call it forth; but without feeling that it was positively her own, being in fact rather confused as to wheth- er or no she owned so much as a name, she carried it nearer the tallow-dip, eager to know what it ~vas about this Sarah Dodge, in whom, at some period of her life, she seemed to have taken an unaccountable interest. If Miss Sarah Dodge will inform J. T., Pitts Place, New York, where she may be found, she wul greatly re- lieve the anxiety of an old friend. That was all; but how much it said to her lonely, aching heart! Here was somebody from among the indifferent millions of man- kind who stretched out a friendly hand to her, somebody who was anxious about herJ. T. What pretty initials they were! The little clock took them up and went on beating out J. T.s to infinity. She no longer mistrusted her identity. John Thoresby bore witness to it, and he loved her still! To be loved, what an experience was that, yesoh yes, and to love! In her old glad days of conquest she had known no- thing like it; but stay, imagination had played her false long ago, what if it were cheating her again? There was no syllable of love in this, Inerely the anxiety any friend might enter- tain; she had changed in so much, might he not have changed in something? The Very Thing, without a certainty of whose existence she could hardly reply to his appeal? It never struck her that one, though figuring in the thin disguise of initials, might hesitate to publish his sentiments, or that as a friend he acted in the character she had given him. Struggling thus with doubt her eyes rested again on the torn sheet; how could she have carried it so long without a prescience of its value? It was like some ragged parchment one spurns from ones path in which a fortune lies perdu; how tumbled and yellow it was !dolt, why had she not thought to look for the date? It was two years before! That settled it. To-day he might not be of the same mind as then; two years of utter silence must have put an end to whatever interest he once felt: what plant can live with- out sunshine? She tried to recollect her em- ployment on that September day, two years back, where her thoughts had been busy, if she had received no nurecognized intimations that another heart heat strongly for her. Oh, why had not Fate thrown this newspaper in her way as well at that time as to-night? Why, but be- cause two years ago she was too proud to con- fess to John Thoresby that poverty was irksome and love a magnet. So she folded the advertisement away with her souvenirs and went plodding on in her old ways, while her mothers life seemed fading like an untended flame, and her own a threadbare fabric, once woven in gold brocade. And so John Thoresby had wandered back to Blossomborough two years beforeto a very different Blossomborough from that which he had left it. The grass no longer grew in the streets, a railroad track had meandered into his once thrifty orchard, the dear old farm - house flaunted a barbarous sign-board to signify that here was entertainment for man and beast. The loud rustle of machinery, the unfamiliar faces, the alert step of the passers, the well-kept roads and pretentious homesabove all, the spirit of enterprise, ~vhich blew dust into his face and jostled him on the way, made him half believe that he had alighted at the wrong station. Is this Blossomborough ? he asked, of a boy. No, its Datonsville; it used to be Blossom- borough though, before Mr. Daton built them mills there and set the place agoing 2.40. Indeed! Can you tell me any thing of Squire Dodges family ? Never Ileard of em myself. Sauntering onward he easily recognized the old wooden house of Miss Earl, ~vhich always looked as if it had just stepped out of a toy vil- lage, with its one poplar holding guard over it; and there, too, stood its owner, bent and gray as ever, haggling with the butcher over a joint of meat. Miss Earl, I believe, said John, offering his hand. Goodness gracious me! Did you rain down, John Thoresby? I thought you had a natural sort of way with ye as you came along; I was jist asking Mr. Newton if he could tell who that smart-looking stranger was. Come in now. I begin to think that either I am bewitched or Blossomborough is, Miss Earl. Mercy sake! Im glad to hear the old name agin. This new folderol jist leaves us old in- habitants out in the cold. Suppose now some one should ask where I was horned? Im sure twasnt in Datonsville; and there isnt no such 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. place as Blossomborough. Datonsyille! Fid- dlesticksville, I say. Here the impatient butcher put his heed in at the door. Going ter take this jint ? Well, Mr. Newton, Ill leave it ter you. Ive told ye what Ill give; but I dont want no- body to call me a skinflint. Well, Ill leave it with you, I guess. I dare say, said John, after this character- istic interruption, that all our old friends have changed as much. as the towm Thats true. Theres Mrs. Jenkins, shes dead and buried, and Jenkins married agin, and his wifes got a pianny, and her and the girls they keep hot water in the house all the time. She makes Jenkins walk Spanish, I can tell you. And so, after completing the circuit of Robin Hoods barn, the force of circumstances run her foul of Squire Dodges. Mr. Jones he got burned bad putting out the fire on Square Dodges old place. It caught in the barn, you see, and Were any of the family injured ? No; only Sophrony was scart half out of her wits, which, between you and me, wasnt no great harm. Sophrony! Who is Sophrony ? Shes Mr. Perkinss daughter. There was four of em, but twos got married since that. He bought the place from the Squares cred- itors. The Squires creditors ? Lor! haint you ever heard how the Square made away with every thing he had in the world? And some do say that he made away with himself too. I have heard nothing at all. Mercy! twas so long ago I thought every body knew; it made a great deal of talk. Miss Dodge she took it amazing hard. She went out of her head for a week, and Sally had a heap of things on her hands. But Sallys plucky. Was she married at that time ? Married! She isnt married, not as I knows on, unless its since they left these parts. And why not? Because that scamp jilted her; that is, he went off one day, and that was the last of him. But justice is justice, and justice will take place sooner or later; hell git his come-upance ! Very likely. But Sallyhow have they got along ? Mercy knows. They went away, bag and baggage, to Jericho for all I know. When a body asked Sally shed only say she was going ter work; ye couldnt git nothing else out of her. You know she was always a little close- mouthed, Sally was. John left Blossomborough in the next train, though steam was hardly swift enough, since he felt that every moment was precious to him, that no time must be lost in his search for Sally. Every delay at the way-stations annoyed him beyond endurance, while he tortured himself with a thousand possibilities of evil. After all, it was like hunting for a needle in a hay-mow; therefore what better could he do than advertise for her, and spend his day in the haunts of the poor and afflicted, feeling assured that she must be among them? From one of the most retiring of men he became the most inquisitive, and though he left no stone unturned, it seemed to him as if the world was full of disappointments and Dodges. He swooped down upon a Miss Dodge in the millinery line, who for a moment believed the coming man had arrived: he sent up his card to an aristocratic Miss Dodge, who was not at home ; but having seen him from a window by stealth afterward told her friend that she would have given any thing if she had been: he interrupted a blushing Miss Dodge in the midst of a spelling-match, and set the school tittering: and positively a Miss Dodge answered his advertisement, and brought him from New York to encounter a sort of Miss Tox in a frisette. Every day was an opportunity that he em- braced with eager hope, a hope that discourage- ment itself appeared to feed. He was sure that at last success would reward him; that if he was necessary to her Providence would bring it about, while he aspired to such nobility as might satisfy her utmost need. How near we some- times stand to our hearts desire and it eludes us, and what apparently insignificant circum- stances influence destiny! A step backward or forward saves a life; a word, a smile, a tone, reconciles those whom the same estranged; touch of hand, turn of head, makes the wil- derness of life to blossom like a rose; a mo- ments hesitation puts beyond reach that which only another revolution of the wheel can replace. In the mean while every thing arrives to him who can wait long enough for it, from an idea to a rhyme or a sweet-heart; only he must take care to be sufficiently desirous of it; and what suffices the Fates alone can tell, otherwise we were all prophets. The fire had fallen into smouldering coals; a chill autumn wind blew merrily outside, and did not scruple to make itself at home in Sallys attic chamber, where she sat late, nodding over her work. Now she was an old black bonnet, on a wet and dreary road-side, waiting for some one to sew her over; now she was riding alone in a stage-coach, and each passenger it took up on the way was John Thoresby; again she was in a prison-cell, across which the evening star threw a silver line as if to plumb the darkness; she was faint and famished, the walls contract- ing about her, when suddenly Johns step rang through the silence, his voice spoke in her ear, she sprang forward, and woke with a hand on the latch of her own door. A second more, and she had stood face to face with the real John Thoresby, who was bringing home a lost child to her neighboring lodger. With one hand on the latch, what was it that held her back? What blind hesitation? What resist- less counter-impulse ? SALLYS DISAPPOINTM~NT. 65 She passed her fingers along her heavy lids. How I dream! she said, and resumed her work. But it was so like, so very like. Sallys mother was now always confined to her bed, always a little wandering. She often insinuated that some one stood between herself and a fortune. Sometimes she accused Sally of being the person; sometimes it was the Prince of Darkness, whom she characterized as that low fellow. Fifty times a day she would re- quest Sally to look into the entry: For I am persuaded, she would say, that the con- science-stricken wretch has left a bag of doub- loons outside. One of her favorite amuse- ments was to rip open the bolster of her bed, because she was led to think that a certain will had been deposited therein. It resins hard, doesnt it ? she asked, as Sally prepared to go out in order to return the work she had been finishing. Quitehard. Well, run between the drops. If they re- lent before you return Ill send the carriage aft- er you. Thank you. I hope theyll relent. And, Sally, just step into the grocers and get some peaches, and say I will settle with him in the course of time. Hell understand. If there had been any thing in the house to eat Sally would not have ventured out in such weather, so meanly clad as she was, so faint from having tasted nothing but prisoners fare since the morning. Indeed, a loaf of stale bread, which was as often sour, and a pitcher of water, was her usual diet nowadays, since all her extra earnings were necessary to procure those costly trifles without which an invalid perishes. It was a cold, stinging autumn storm, with a wind like a smart slap in the facea wind which twisted her clothes about her like a ribbon, and seemed to place invisible stumbling- blocks in her path. It ~vas nearly dusk when she had completed her purchases; and thus lad- en with packages she turned homeward, How slippery the way was! how cold the weak hands grasping the bundles! how lagging the tired feet! She remembered that at home to walk in a brisk rain had been something delightful to her; to walk with the rain in her face and the happy consciousness in her heart that a cheerful fireside, dry clothes, and anxious caresses a~vait- ed her at the end. How pitiful the contrast! Who would say to-day, Sally, my dear child, you are drenched to the skin, and kiss the wet cheek and smooth the damp hair? Ah, who? Winding in and out harrow, gloomy alleys, what home-pictures opened like panoramic views along the waY! Here a group of rosy children waited for papa, ~vith chubby cheeks flattened against the pane and longing eyes searching the lone- some street; further on some one opened the door to a gentleman, saying, sweetly, I have been so anxious, dear ; and again a half-closed shutter revealed the charms of a family tea-ta- ble, the spotless damask, the gilded porcelain, the beaming faces intent on installing baby into VOL. XXXII.No. 187.E the dignity of a high-chair; while over the way the shadow of two waltzers passed and repassed across the dropped curtain to an air of Von Webers. Oh, what sweetness there was in life! and where was her portion? A cruel heart- sickness seized her; herhead swam giddily, her feet tottered from their appointed way; she steadied herself against a railing, and behind her came sharp and distinct the ring of determ- ined footsteps. So other footsteps made music for her once. She would rest against this rail- ing till these passed on. But what was this? What distortion of fancy? It appeared to her that these footsteps paused beside her, that some one spoke her pityinglya voice in a dream relieved her of her burdens, gathered her on a strong and gentle arm, shielded her from the remorseless weather. Where was her portion of lifes sweetness? Oh here! since thrilling pulses and bounding heart told that here ~vas John Thoresby! But Johns intuitions were not so ready. How could he mistake this shadow of a woman, whose hair showed some threads of silver, whose face was pale and pinched, the lines about whose sad mouth disclosed a tale the white lips ~eemed striving to keep back, this wreck stranded on what alien shorehow could he mistake her for the gay, triumphant creature who had found him musing on the bridge over happy River a dozen years ago? How hut that her tones of sweet surprise, her eyes bent to him in confident relief, betrayed her? And there, heedless of the driving torrent, heedless of curious eyes, Ileedless of all but each other, Two brave hearts with one accord, Past all tumult, grief, and wreck, Looked up calm and praised the Lord. Poor Mrs. Dodge, when she understood that Sally had returiled in a coach, that snfferin~ and toil ~~ere at an end, declared it was not at all astonishing to her; she always knew that it was darkest just before day, and she was sure it got to be very dark be~re Sally came back. The Datonsville people who remembered John ~vere somewhat exercised in mind when he re- turned and purchased the old place again, and proceeded to remodel it into a charmingly pic- turesque home. Wonder if hes going to keep bachelors hall there ? said Mrs. Jenkins, Junior, on her way out of church. I guess not. Miss Earl tmnd me looked into the windows as we ~vent by last night; they haint got no curtains up yet, but I never see any thing like the furniture. Mr. Datons aint a circumstance to it. Comparisons are odious, replied Mrs. Jen- kins, who, having just selected a new parlor set, was afraid it might pale before this rising splen- dor; but conjecture was silenced on that poiut by Johns saying to Miss Earl: I,anl going to bring my wife down next week, and we shall be glad to see old friends. 66 HARPER~ NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I shall drop in when I can find time, de- pend on it. There was no donbt but she would find time. Who do ye suppose hes picked up now ? queried Mrs. Jones upon receiving this interest- ing communication at second-hand. Youd thought hed rather married a girl lie knowed something about, in a place where he could tell whos who, she added, looking around at her own family circle, which matrimony had left intact. And so Sally returned to her own; and Miss Earl persisted more than ever that justice was jnstice, etc., etc., and had half a mind to com- mute Kingsdowns sentence, seeing her so for- getful and happy. Fifteen years later Mrs. John Thoresby stood on her vine-clad veranda, shading her eyes with one hand, and watching the angle of the street for a well-known figure, when presently a gentleman came slowly into view, paused, and looked around him as if uncertain of his where- abouts. Dear me! thats not John. John is not so portly; John doesnt stoop like that. Directly, catching sight of her, he adianced along the carriage-path as if he had arrived at some difficult determination: a gentlemanly- attired person, bearing the remains of great per- sonal beauty, the knowledge of which still lent him an easy and graceful assurance. Good-evening, Madame, he said, lifting his hat with a flourish, and declining her prof- fered hospitality. Excuse my intrusion, but time has stolen a march on me. Twenty-five years ago I knew this town like a book; to-day I came down to revive old associations, and bless me if 1 can find a single land-mark of old times. Indeed I sympathized Sally; but you did well to remember the old place so long. Ah! I dont know; perhaps so: but when one has had a sweet-heart in a place one doesnt forget so easily. Ah, those honey-suckles! how they bring back the porch where we used to sit and the moonlight nights ! How delightful I said Sally, breaking off a cluster for him. Yes, yes; delightful if one has nothing to regret. Fathers were more austere in those tunes; I shall let my boys marry whom they please, without cutting them off with a shilling. Yes. I fancied I could point to the house the moment I set foot here. I wanted to walk about the grounds and live it all over a little. If one could only be young twice ! If you can tell me the name I may be able to assist you. Thank you. Dodge~Sqnire Dodges farm. Do you know any thing about such people ? I think theres no such name in the Di- rectory. Very likely. But I should really like to know if she remembers me; I should like to have seen her without being seen, and judge if love is .as blind as they say. Good-evening, Madame ; and be kissed his hand to her, and went down the path arranging a honey-suckle in the button-hole of his coat. Sally looked after him a minute with what altered emotions! then ~vent into the house and stood before her Psyche mirror. Am I so much changed? So very much changed ? she asked herself, plaintively. But he loved me after all, poor boy! I am much obliged to his father, though. Oh, John! is that you, dear? It just came home to me how much I was unlike the Sally Dodge you were in love with once. But~ oh, so very like the Sally Thoreshy I love to-day, dear ! ASPIRATIONS. TIlE sweetest songs our poets sixig, The deepest thoughts and sweetest. words That to our lives their music bring, Are but as songs of caged birds. High up in the unfathomed sky The happy winged singers go; And fainter, sadder comes reply From the poor captive ones below. The higher song is clear and sweet, And perfect without aid of art; But vain our strivings to repeat Joys words with sadness in the heart. In ours a saddened undertone Tells ever of captivity, Dim reachings out for the unknown, And longings for the native sky. Oerhung with mists of grief and care Our blinded life goes murmuring; The singers of the upper air In Gods qw~ sunshine spread the wing. Oh! joyously they sing and soar; Full meanings flow in perfect speech; But we go striving evermore For utte~ance we can not reach. Oh, would some angels hxand restring, If for one hour, the broken lute, And touch our lips with fire, to sing But once, ere harp and voice be mute! In vain: the choral songs of heaven Suit not with earthly grief and wrong; Not till the spirits wings are given It learns the full, immortal song.

Aspirations 66-67

66 HARPER~ NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I shall drop in when I can find time, de- pend on it. There was no donbt but she would find time. Who do ye suppose hes picked up now ? queried Mrs. Jones upon receiving this interest- ing communication at second-hand. Youd thought hed rather married a girl lie knowed something about, in a place where he could tell whos who, she added, looking around at her own family circle, which matrimony had left intact. And so Sally returned to her own; and Miss Earl persisted more than ever that justice was jnstice, etc., etc., and had half a mind to com- mute Kingsdowns sentence, seeing her so for- getful and happy. Fifteen years later Mrs. John Thoresby stood on her vine-clad veranda, shading her eyes with one hand, and watching the angle of the street for a well-known figure, when presently a gentleman came slowly into view, paused, and looked around him as if uncertain of his where- abouts. Dear me! thats not John. John is not so portly; John doesnt stoop like that. Directly, catching sight of her, he adianced along the carriage-path as if he had arrived at some difficult determination: a gentlemanly- attired person, bearing the remains of great per- sonal beauty, the knowledge of which still lent him an easy and graceful assurance. Good-evening, Madame, he said, lifting his hat with a flourish, and declining her prof- fered hospitality. Excuse my intrusion, but time has stolen a march on me. Twenty-five years ago I knew this town like a book; to-day I came down to revive old associations, and bless me if 1 can find a single land-mark of old times. Indeed I sympathized Sally; but you did well to remember the old place so long. Ah! I dont know; perhaps so: but when one has had a sweet-heart in a place one doesnt forget so easily. Ah, those honey-suckles! how they bring back the porch where we used to sit and the moonlight nights ! How delightful I said Sally, breaking off a cluster for him. Yes, yes; delightful if one has nothing to regret. Fathers were more austere in those tunes; I shall let my boys marry whom they please, without cutting them off with a shilling. Yes. I fancied I could point to the house the moment I set foot here. I wanted to walk about the grounds and live it all over a little. If one could only be young twice ! If you can tell me the name I may be able to assist you. Thank you. Dodge~Sqnire Dodges farm. Do you know any thing about such people ? I think theres no such name in the Di- rectory. Very likely. But I should really like to know if she remembers me; I should like to have seen her without being seen, and judge if love is .as blind as they say. Good-evening, Madame ; and be kissed his hand to her, and went down the path arranging a honey-suckle in the button-hole of his coat. Sally looked after him a minute with what altered emotions! then ~vent into the house and stood before her Psyche mirror. Am I so much changed? So very much changed ? she asked herself, plaintively. But he loved me after all, poor boy! I am much obliged to his father, though. Oh, John! is that you, dear? It just came home to me how much I was unlike the Sally Dodge you were in love with once. But~ oh, so very like the Sally Thoreshy I love to-day, dear ! ASPIRATIONS. TIlE sweetest songs our poets sixig, The deepest thoughts and sweetest. words That to our lives their music bring, Are but as songs of caged birds. High up in the unfathomed sky The happy winged singers go; And fainter, sadder comes reply From the poor captive ones below. The higher song is clear and sweet, And perfect without aid of art; But vain our strivings to repeat Joys words with sadness in the heart. In ours a saddened undertone Tells ever of captivity, Dim reachings out for the unknown, And longings for the native sky. Oerhung with mists of grief and care Our blinded life goes murmuring; The singers of the upper air In Gods qw~ sunshine spread the wing. Oh! joyously they sing and soar; Full meanings flow in perfect speech; But we go striving evermore For utte~ance we can not reach. Oh, would some angels hxand restring, If for one hour, the broken lute, And touch our lips with fire, to sing But once, ere harp and voice be mute! In vain: the choral songs of heaven Suit not with earthly grief and wrong; Not till the spirits wings are given It learns the full, immortal song. ARMADALE. 67 ARMADALE. BOOK~- THE F(JURTH. CIIAPTR~ VIII. SHE COMES BETWEEN THEM. APPOINTED hours for the various domestic events of the-day were things unknown at Thorpe-Ambrose. Irregular in all his habits, Allan accommodated himself to no stated times (with the solitary exception of dinner-time), at any hour of the day or night. He retired to rest early or late, and he rose early or late, exact- ly as he felt inclined. The servants were for-. bidden to call him; and Mrs. Gripper was ac- customed to improvise the breakfast as she best might, from the time when the kitchen fire was first lighted to the time when the clock stood on the stroke of noon. Toward nine oclock on the morning after his return Midwinter knocked at Allans door, and, on entering the room, found it empty. After inquiry among the servants, it appeared that Allan had risen that morning before the man who usually attended on him was up, and that his hot water had been hrought to the door by one of the house-maids, who was then still in ignorance of Midwinters return. Nobody had chanced to see the~ master either on the stairs or in the hall; nohody had heard him ring the hell for breakfast as usuaL In brief, nobody knew any thing: ahoa~ him,, except what was obviously cleat to .alh*tbat~Ise ~was~ not i~s the house. Midwinter went~out under the great~porticA,. He stood at the head of the flight pf steps, con- sidering in which direction he should set forth to look for his friend. Allans unexpected ab- sence added -one more to the disquieting influ- ences which1 still perplexed his mind. He was in the moodin which trifles irritate a man, and fancies. are all-powerful to exalt or depress his spirits. The sky was cloudy, and the wind blew in puffs from the south--there was every prospect, to weather-wise eyes, of coming rain. While Midwinter was still hesitating, one of the grooms passed him on the drive below. The man proved, on heing questioned, to be better informed about his masters movements than the servants in- doors. He had seen Allan pass the stables more than an hour since, going oat by the back way into the park, with a nosegay in his hand. A nosegay in his hand? The nosegay hung incomprehensibly on Midwinters mind as he walked round, on the chance of meeting Allan, to the back of the house. What does the nosegay mean ? he asked himself, with an un- intelligible sense of irritation, and a petulant kick at a stone that stood in his way. It meant that Allan had been following his impulses as usual. The one pleasant impres ~BYT~Lm~OLW~AUTHOR OF NO NAME, THE WOMAN IN WurrE, ETC. sion left on his mind, after his interview with Pedgift Senior, was the impression made by the lawyers account- of his conversation with Neelie in the park. The anxiety that he should not misjudge her, which the majors daughter had so earnestly expressed, placed her before Allans eyes in an irresistibly attractive characterthe character of the one person among all his neigh- bors who had some respect still left for his good opinion. Acutely sensible of his social isola- tion, now that there was no Midwinter to keep him company in the empty house; hungering and thirsting in his solitude for a kind word and a friendly look, he began to think more and more regretfully and more and more longingly of the bright young face, so pleasantly associa- ted with his first, happiest days at Thorpe-Am- brose. To be conscious of such a feeling as this was, with a character like Allans, to act on it headlong, lead him where it might. He had gone out on the previous morning to look for Neelie with a peace-offering of flowers, but with no very distinct idea of what he should say to her if they met; and failing to find her on the scene -of her customary-walks1 he had- character- istically persisted the next~ morning in making a second attempt with anQther peace-offering on a larger scale. Still ignorant of his friends return, he was now at some distance from the house, searching the park in a direction which he had not tried yet. After walking out a few hundred yards bc- yond the stables, and failing to discover any signs of Allan, Midwinter retraced his steps, and waited for his friends return, pacing slow- ly to and fro on the little strip of garden-ground at the back of the house. From time to time, as he passed it, he looked in absently at the room which had formerly been Mrs. Armadales, which was now (through his interposition) habitually occupied by her son the room with the Statuette on the bracket, and the French windows opening to the ground, which had once recalled to him the Second Vi- sion of the Dream. The Shadow of the Man, which Allan had seen standing opposite to him at the long window; the view over a lawn and flower-garden; the pattering of the rain against the glass; the stretching out of the Shadows arm, and the fall of the statue in fragments on the floorthese objects and events of the vision- ~ry scene, so vividly present to his memory once, were all superseded by later remembrances now, were all left to fade as they might in the dim back-ground of time. He could pass the room again, and- again, alone and anxious, and never once think of the boat drifting away in the moonlight, and the nights imprisonment on the Wrecked Ship! To~vard ten oclock the well - remembered sound of Allans voice became suddenly audi-

Wilkie Collins Collins, Wilkie Armadale 67-81

ARMADALE. 67 ARMADALE. BOOK~- THE F(JURTH. CIIAPTR~ VIII. SHE COMES BETWEEN THEM. APPOINTED hours for the various domestic events of the-day were things unknown at Thorpe-Ambrose. Irregular in all his habits, Allan accommodated himself to no stated times (with the solitary exception of dinner-time), at any hour of the day or night. He retired to rest early or late, and he rose early or late, exact- ly as he felt inclined. The servants were for-. bidden to call him; and Mrs. Gripper was ac- customed to improvise the breakfast as she best might, from the time when the kitchen fire was first lighted to the time when the clock stood on the stroke of noon. Toward nine oclock on the morning after his return Midwinter knocked at Allans door, and, on entering the room, found it empty. After inquiry among the servants, it appeared that Allan had risen that morning before the man who usually attended on him was up, and that his hot water had been hrought to the door by one of the house-maids, who was then still in ignorance of Midwinters return. Nobody had chanced to see the~ master either on the stairs or in the hall; nohody had heard him ring the hell for breakfast as usuaL In brief, nobody knew any thing: ahoa~ him,, except what was obviously cleat to .alh*tbat~Ise ~was~ not i~s the house. Midwinter went~out under the great~porticA,. He stood at the head of the flight pf steps, con- sidering in which direction he should set forth to look for his friend. Allans unexpected ab- sence added -one more to the disquieting influ- ences which1 still perplexed his mind. He was in the moodin which trifles irritate a man, and fancies. are all-powerful to exalt or depress his spirits. The sky was cloudy, and the wind blew in puffs from the south--there was every prospect, to weather-wise eyes, of coming rain. While Midwinter was still hesitating, one of the grooms passed him on the drive below. The man proved, on heing questioned, to be better informed about his masters movements than the servants in- doors. He had seen Allan pass the stables more than an hour since, going oat by the back way into the park, with a nosegay in his hand. A nosegay in his hand? The nosegay hung incomprehensibly on Midwinters mind as he walked round, on the chance of meeting Allan, to the back of the house. What does the nosegay mean ? he asked himself, with an un- intelligible sense of irritation, and a petulant kick at a stone that stood in his way. It meant that Allan had been following his impulses as usual. The one pleasant impres ~BYT~Lm~OLW~AUTHOR OF NO NAME, THE WOMAN IN WurrE, ETC. sion left on his mind, after his interview with Pedgift Senior, was the impression made by the lawyers account- of his conversation with Neelie in the park. The anxiety that he should not misjudge her, which the majors daughter had so earnestly expressed, placed her before Allans eyes in an irresistibly attractive characterthe character of the one person among all his neigh- bors who had some respect still left for his good opinion. Acutely sensible of his social isola- tion, now that there was no Midwinter to keep him company in the empty house; hungering and thirsting in his solitude for a kind word and a friendly look, he began to think more and more regretfully and more and more longingly of the bright young face, so pleasantly associa- ted with his first, happiest days at Thorpe-Am- brose. To be conscious of such a feeling as this was, with a character like Allans, to act on it headlong, lead him where it might. He had gone out on the previous morning to look for Neelie with a peace-offering of flowers, but with no very distinct idea of what he should say to her if they met; and failing to find her on the scene -of her customary-walks1 he had- character- istically persisted the next~ morning in making a second attempt with anQther peace-offering on a larger scale. Still ignorant of his friends return, he was now at some distance from the house, searching the park in a direction which he had not tried yet. After walking out a few hundred yards bc- yond the stables, and failing to discover any signs of Allan, Midwinter retraced his steps, and waited for his friends return, pacing slow- ly to and fro on the little strip of garden-ground at the back of the house. From time to time, as he passed it, he looked in absently at the room which had formerly been Mrs. Armadales, which was now (through his interposition) habitually occupied by her son the room with the Statuette on the bracket, and the French windows opening to the ground, which had once recalled to him the Second Vi- sion of the Dream. The Shadow of the Man, which Allan had seen standing opposite to him at the long window; the view over a lawn and flower-garden; the pattering of the rain against the glass; the stretching out of the Shadows arm, and the fall of the statue in fragments on the floorthese objects and events of the vision- ~ry scene, so vividly present to his memory once, were all superseded by later remembrances now, were all left to fade as they might in the dim back-ground of time. He could pass the room again, and- again, alone and anxious, and never once think of the boat drifting away in the moonlight, and the nights imprisonment on the Wrecked Ship! To~vard ten oclock the well - remembered sound of Allans voice became suddenly audi- 68 hARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. ble in the direction of the stables. In a moment more he wasvisible from the garden. His sec- ond mornings search for Neelie had ended, to all appearance, in a second defeat of his object. The nosegay was still in his hand; and he was resignedly making a present of it to one of the coachmans children. Midwinter impulsively took a step forward toward the stables, and abruptly checked his further progress. Conscious that his position toward his friend was altered already in relation to Miss Gwilt, the first sight of Allan filled his mind with a sudden distrust of the governess~ influence over him, which was almost a distrust of himself. He knew that he had set forth from the moors on his return to Thorpe-Am- brose with the resolution of acknowledging the passion that had mastered him, and of insisting, if necessary, on a second and a longer absence in the interests of the sacrifice which he was bent on making to the happiness of his friend. What had become of that resolution now? The discovery of Miss Gwilts altered position, and the declaration that she had voluntarily made of her indifference to Allan, had scattered it to the winds. The first words with which he would / ARMADALE. 69 have met his friend, if nothing had happened There was a momentary pause. They both to him on the homeward way, were words al- stood still at the window, absorbed in the inter- ready dismissed from his lips. He drew back est of the moment. They both forgot that their as he felt it, and struggled with an instinctive contemplated place of shelter from the rain had loyalty toward Allan, to free himself at the last been the breakfast.room up stairs. moment from the influence of Miss Gwilt. Before I answer your question, said Mid- Having disposed of his useless nosegay, Allan winter, a little constrainedly, I want to ask you passed on into the garden, and the instant he something, Allan, on my side. Is it really true entered it recognized Mid~vinter with a loud that you are in some way concerned in Miss cry of surprise and delight. Gwilts leaving Major Milrovs service ? Am I awake, or dreaming ? he exclaimed, There was another pause. The disturbance seizing hisfriend excitably by both hands. You which had begun to appear in Allans manner dear old Midwinter, have you sprung up out palpably increased. of the ground, or have you dropped from the Its rather a long story, he began. I clouds ? have been taken in, Midwinter. Ive been im- It was not till Midwinter had explained the posed on by a person, whoI cant help saying mystery of his unexpected appearance in every itwho cheated me into, promising what I particular that Allan could be prevailed on to oughtnt to have promised, and doing what I say a word about himself. When he did speak had better not have done. It isnt breaking my he shook his head ruefully, and subdued the promise to tell you. I can trust in your discr~- hearty loudness of his voice, with a preliminary tion, cant I? You will never say a word, will look round to see if the servants ~vere within you ? hearing. Stop ! said Midwinter. Dont trust me Ive learned to be cautious since .you went ~vith any secrets which are not your own. If away and left me, said Allan. My dear fel- you have given a promise, dont trifle with it, low, you havent the least notion what things even in speaking to such an intimate friend as I have happened, and what an awful scrape Im am. He laid his hand gently and kindly on in at this very moment ! Allans shoulder. I cant hell) seeing that I You are mistaken, Allan. I have heard have made you a little uncomfortable, he ~vent more of what has happened than you suppose. on. I cant help seeing that my question is What! the dreadful mess Im in with Miss not so easy a one to answer as I had hoped and Gwilt? the row with the major? the infernal supposed. Shall we wait a little? shall we go scandal-mongering in the neighborhood? You up stairs and breakfast first ? dont mean to say? Allan was far too earnestly bent on presenting Yes, interposed Midwinter, quietly, I his conduct to his friend in the right aspect to have heard of it alL heed Midwinters suggestion. lIe spoke eagerly Good Heavens! how? Did you stop at on the instant, without moving from the win- Thorpe.Ambrose on your way back? Have you dow. been in the coffee-room at the hotel? Have you My dear fellow, its a perfectly easy question met Pedgift? Have you dropped into the Read- to answer. Only lie hesitated. Only it ing Rooms, and seen what they call the freedom requires what Im a bad hand atit requires an of the press in the town newspaper ? explanation. Midwinter paused before he answered, and Do you mean, asked Midwinter, more se- looked up at the sky. The clouds had been riously, but not less gently than before, that gathering unnoticed over their heads, and the you must first justify yourself, and then answer first rain-drops were beginning to fall. my question ? Come in here, said Allan. Well go up Thats it! said Allan, with an air of re- to breakfast this way. He led Midwinter lief. Youve hit the right nail on the head, through the open French window into his own just as usual. sitting-room. The wind blew toward that side Mid~vinters face darkened for th6 first time. of the house, and the rain followed them in. I am sorry to hear it, he said; his voice Midwinter, who ~vas last, turned and closed the sinking low, and his eyes dropping to the ground window, as he spoke. Allan was too eager for the answer which the The rain was beginning to fall thickly. It weather had interrupted to wait for it till they swept across the garden, straight on the closed reached the breakfast-room. He stopped close windows, and pattered heavily against the glass. at the window, and added two more to his string Sorry ! repeated Allan. My dear feLlo~v, of questions. you havent heard the particulars yet. Wait How can you possibly have heard about me till I explain the thing first. and Miss Gwilt? he asked. Who told you ? You are a bad hand at explanations, said Miss Gwilt herself, replied Midwinter, Midwinter, repeating Allans own words. Dont gravely, place yourself at a disadvantage. Dont explain Allans manner changed the moment the gov. it. ernesss name passed his friends lips. Allan looked at him in silent perplexity and I wish you had heard my story first, he surprise. said. Where did you meet ivith Miss Gwilt? You are my friendmy best and dearest 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. friend, Midwinter ~vent on. I cant bear to let you justify yourself to me as if I was your judge, or as if I doubted you. He looked up again at Allan frankly and kindly as he said those words. Besides, he resumed, I think if I look into my memory I can anticipate your explanation. We had a moments talk, before I went away, about some very delicate ques- tions, which you proposed putting to Major Milroy. I remember I warned you; I remem- ber I had my misgivings. Should I be guess- ing right if I guessed that those questions have been in some way the means of leading you into a false position? If it is true that you have been concerned in Miss Gwilts leaving her situation, is it also trucis it only doing you justice to believethat any mischief for which you are responsible has been mischief innocent- ly donc? - Yes, said Allan, speaking for the first time a little constrainedly on his side. It is only doing me justice to say that. lie stopped and began drawing lines absently with his finger on the blurred suiface of the ~vindo~v-pane. Youre not like other people, Midwinter, he resumed suddenly, with an effort; and I should have liked you to have heard tho particulars all the same. I will hear them if you desire it, returned Midwinter. But I am satisfied, without an- other word, that you have not willingly been the means of depriving Miss G~vilt of her situa- tion. If that is understood between you and me, I think we need say no more. Besides, I have another question to ask, of much greater im- portance; a question that has been forced on me by what I saw with my own eyes, and heard with my own ears last night. He stopped, recoiling in spite of himself. Shall we go up stairs first ? he asked, abrupt- ly, leading the way to the door, and trying to gain time. It was useless. Once again, the room which they were both free to leave, the room ~vhich one of them had twice tried to leave already, held them as if they were prisoners. Without answering, without even appearing to have heard Midwinters proposal to go up stairs, Allan followed him mechanically as far as the opposite side of the window. There he stopped. Midwinter ! he burst out, in a sud- den panic of astonishment and alarm, there seems to be something strange between us! you re not like yourself. What is it ? With his hand on the lock of the door Mid- winter turned, and looked back into the room. The moment had come. His haunting fear of doing his friend an injustice had shown itself in a restraint of word, look, and action, ~vhich had been marked enough to force its way to Allans notice. The one course left now, in the dear- est interests of the friendship that united them, was to speak at once, and to speak boldly. Theres something strange between ~ reiterated Allan. For Gods sake what is it? Midwinter took his hand from the door and came down again to the window, frontingAllan He occupied the place, of necessity, which Allan had just left. It was the side of the window on which the Statuette stood. The little figure, placed on its projecting bracket, was close be- hind him on his right hand. No signs of change appeared in the stormy sky. The rain still swept slanting across the garden, and pattered heavily against the glass. Give me your hand, Allan. Allan gave it, and Midwinter held it firmly while he spoke. Thure is something strange between us, he said. There is something to be set right which touches you nearly; and it has not been set right yet. You asked me just now ~uhere I met with Miss Gwilt. I met with her on my way back here, upon the high-road on the farther side of the town. She entreated mc to protect her from a man who was following and fright- ening her. I saw the scoundrel with my own eves, and I should have laid hands on him if Miss Gwilt herself had not stopped me. She gave a very strange reason for stopping me. She said I didnt know who his employer was. Allans ruddy color suddenly deepened; he looked aside quickly through the window at the pouring rain. At the same moment their hands fell apart, and there was a pause of silence on either side. Midwinter was the first to speak again. Later in the evening, he ~vent on, Miss Gwilt explained herself. She thld me two things. She declared that the man whom I had seen following her was a hired spy. I was surprised, but I could not dispute it. She told me next, Allan--what I believe with my whole heart and soul to be a falsehood which has been imposed on her as the truthshe told me that the spy was in your employment! Allan turned instantly from the window and looked Midwinter full in the face again. I must explain myself this time, he said, reso- lutely. The ashy paleness peculiar to him in mo~ me~~ts,of strong emotion began to show itself on Midwinters cheeks. More explaniitions! he said, and drew back a step, with his eyes fixed in a sudden ter- ror of inquiry on Allans face. You dont know what I know, Midwinter. You dont know that what I have done has been done with a good reason. And what is more, I have not trusted to niyselfI have had good advice. Did you hear what I said just now ? asked Midwinter, incredulously; you cantsurely, you cant have been attending to me ? I havent missed a word, rejoined Allan. I tell you ngain, you dont know what I know of Miss Gwilt. She has threatened Miss Mil- roy. Miss Milroy is in danger while her gov- erness stops in this neighborhood. Midwinter dismissed the majors daughter from the conversation with a contemptuous ges- ture of his hand. ARMADALE. 71 I dont want to hear about Miss Milroy, he said. Dont mix up Miss Milroy Good God, Allan, am I to understand that the spy set to watch Miss Gwilt was doing his vile work with your approval ? Once for all, my dear fellow, will you, or will you not, let me explain ? Explain ! cried Midwinter, his eyes aflame, and his hot Creole blood rushing crimsou into his face. Explain the employment of a spy? What! after having driven Miss Gwilt out ~f her situation by meddling with her private at- fairs, you meddle again by the vilest of all meansthe means of a paid spy? You set a watch on the woman whom you yourself told me you loved, only a fortnight since! the wo- man you were thinking of as your wife! I dont believe it; I wont believe it. Is my head failing me? Is it Allan Armadale I am speak- ing to? Is it Allan Armadalqs face looking at me? Stop! you are acting under some mis- taken scruple. Some lo~v fellow has crept into your confidence, and has done this in your name without telling you first. Allan controlled himself with admirable pa- tience and admirable consideration for the tem- per of his friend. If you persist in refusing to hear me, he said, I must wait as well as I can till my turn comes. Tell me you are a stranger to the employ- ment of that man and I will hear you willingly. Suppose there should be a necessity that you know nothing about for employing him ? I acknowledge no necessity for the coward- ly persecution of a helpless ivoman. A momentary flush of irritationmomentary, and no morepassed over Allans face. You mightnt think her quite so helpless, he said, if you kne~v the truth. Are you the man to tell me the truth ?.re- torted the other. You who have refused to hear her in her own defense! You, who have closed the doors of this house against herl Allan still controlled himself, but the effort began at last to be visible. I know your temper is a hot one, he said. But for all that, your violence quite takes me by surprise. I cant account for it, unlesshe hesitated a moment, and then finished the sen- tence in his usual frank, outspoken wayun- less you are sweet yourself on Miss Gwilt. Those last words heaped fuel on the fire. They stripped the truth instantly of all conceal- meats and disguises, and laid it bare to view. Allans instinct had guessed, and the guiding influence stood revealed of Midwinters interest in Miss Gwilt. What right have you to say that ? he ask- ed, with raised voice and threatening eyes. I told you, said Allan, simply, ~vhen I thought I was sweet on her myself. Come, come! its a little hard, I think, even if you are in love with her, to believe every thing she tells you, and not to let me say a word. Is that the way you decide between us Yes, it is ! cried the other, infuriated by Allans second allusion to Miss Gwilt. When I am asked to choose between the employer of a spy and the victim of a spy I side with the victim ! Dont try me too hard, Midwinter; I have a temper to lose as well as you. He stopped, struggling with himself. The torture of pafsion in Midwinters face, from which a less simple and less generous nature might have recoiled in horror, touched Allan suddenly with an artless distress, which, at that moment, was little less than sublime. He ad- vanced, with his eyes moistening and his hand held out. You asked me for my hand just now, he said, and I gave it you. Will you remember old times and give n~e yours, before its too late ? No ! retorted Midwinter, furiously. I may meet Miss Gwilt again, and I may want my hand free to deal with your spy ! He had drawn back along the wall as Allan advanced until the bracket which supported the Statuette was before instead of behind him. In the madness of his passion lie saw nothing but Allans face confronting him. In the madness of his passion he stretched out his right hand as he answered, and shook it threateningly in the air. It struck the forgotten projection of the bracket, and the next instant the Statuette lay in fragments on the floor. The rain drove slanting over flower-bed and lawn, and pattered heavily against the glass; and the two Armadales stood by the window, as the two Shadows had stood in the second Vision of the Dream, with the ~vreck of the im- age bet~veen them. Allan stooped over the fragments of the lit- tle figure and lifted them one by one from the floor. Leave me, he said, without looking up, or we shall both repent it. Without a word Midwinter moved back slow ly. He stood for the second time with his hand on the door, and looked his last at the room. The horror of the night on the Wreck had got hhn once more, and the flame of his passion was quenched in an instant. The Dream ! he whispered, under his breath. The Dream again ! The door was tried from the ontside, and a servant appeared with a trivial message about the breakfast. Midwinter looked at the man with a blank, dreadful helplessness in his fate. Show me the way out, he said. The place is dark, and the room turns round with me. The servant took him by the arm, and silently led him out. As the door closed on them Allan picked up the last fragment of the broken fl~ure. He sat down alone at the table, and hid his face in his hands. The self-control which he had bravely preserved under exasperation renewed again and again, now failed him at last in the friendless solitude of his room; and in the first bitterness of feeling that Midwinter had turned against him like the rest, he burst into tears. 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The moments followed each other, the slow Hearing that Mr. Armadale still remained time wore on. Little by little the signs of a in his sitting-room, I ivent into the ste~var~s new elemental disturbance began to show them- office (which, as you may remember, is on the selves in the summer storm. The shadow of a same side of the house), and left the door ajar, swiftly-deepening darkness swcpt over the sky. and set the window open, waiting and listening The pattering of the rain lessened with the less- for any thing that might happen. Dear madam, ening wind. There was a momentary hush of there was a time when I might have thought stillness. Then on a sudden the rain l)onred such a position in the house of my employer not down again like a cataract, and the low roll of a very becoming one. Let me hasten to assure thunder came up solemnly on the dying air, you that this is far from being my feeling no~v. I glory in any position which nmakes me service- able to you. The state of the ~veather seemed hopelessly CHAPTER IX. adverse to that renewal of intercourse between SITE KNOWS TEE TRUTH. Mr. Armadale and Miss Milroy, which yon so confidently anticipate, and of which yon are so .1From Mr. Bashwood to Miss G~tlt. anxious, to be znade.a~vare. Strangely enough, Taoup~.Am~uosi, July 0, 1851. however, it is actually in consequence of the DEAR MADAM,I received yesterday, by state of the weather that I am now in a position private messenger, your obliging note, in which to give you the ~very information you require. you direct inc to communicate with you, through Mr. Armadale and Miss Milroy met about an the post only, as long as there is reason to he- hour since. The circumstances were as fob. hieve, that any visitors who may come to you are lows: likely to be observed. May I be permitted to Just ut the beginning of the thun4er-storm say, that I look forward with respectfnl anxiety I saw one of the grooms run across from the to the time when I shall again enjoy the only stables, and heard him tap at his ma~ters win- real happiness I have ever experiencedthe dow. Mr. Armadale opened the window and happiness of personally addressing you?, asked what was the matter. The groom said he In compliance with your desire that I should came with a message from the coachmans wife. not allow this day (the Sunday) to l)~58 without She had seen from her room over the stables J)rivately noticing ~vhat went on at the great (~vhic h looks on to the park) Miss Milroy, quite house, I took the keys, and vent this morning alone, standing for shelter under one of. the to the stewards office.. I accounted for, my ap- trees. As thu t part of the park was at some 4is- pearance to the servants by informing them that~ tance from the majors cottage she had. thought I had work to do which it was important to com- that her master might wish to, send and ask the plete in the shortest possibletime. , The same young lady into the houseespecially as she had excuse would have ,done for Mr. Armadale, if I placed herself, ~vith a thunder-storm coming on, we had met, but no such meeting happened. in what might turn out to be a very dangerous Although I was at Thorpe-Ambrose, in what position. I thought good time, I was too late to see or The moment Mr. Armadalo understood the hear aoy thing myself of a serious quarrel which I mans message he called. for the waterproof appeared to have taken place, just before I ar- things and the umbrellas, and ran, out himself, rived, between Mr. Armadale and Mr. Midwin- instead of leaving it to the servants. In a little ter. , time he and the groom came back ~vith Miss All the little information I can give you in Milroy between tlmem, as well protected as could this matter is derived from one of the servants. be from tIme main. The man told me that he heard the voices of tlmc I ascertained from one of the womcn-serv- two gentlemen loud, in Mr. Armadales sitting- ants, wlmo had taken tlme young lady into a bed- room. He went in to announce breakfast shortly room, and had stmpplied liner with such dry things afterward, and found Mr. Mid~vinter in suclm a as she wanted, that Miss Milroy Imad been after- dreadful state of agitation, that he had to be ward shown into the drawing-room, and that helped out of the room. The servant tmied to Mr. Armadale was tlmere with her. Ihe only take him up stairs to lie down and compose him- way of following your instructions, and finding self. He declined, saying. he would wait a lit- out ~vhat passed between them, was to go ronmind tle first in one of the lower rooms, and begging the house in tIme pelting rain, and get into the con- that he might be left alone. T he man had servatory (which opens into the drawing-room) hardly got down stairs again, when he heard by the outer door. I hesitate at nothing, dear the front-door opened and closed. He ran back, madam, in your service; I would cheerfully get and found that Mr. Mid~vinter was gone. The wet every day to please you. Besides, thoimgh rain ~vas pouring at the time, and thunder and I may at first sight be thought rather an eldemly lightning came soon afterward. Dreadful weath- nman, a ~vetting is of no very serious consequence er, certainly, to go out in. Time servant thininks to me. I assure you I am not so old as I look, Mr. Midwinters mind ivas unsettled. I sin- and I am of a stronger constitution than ap- cerely hope not. Mr. Midwinter is one of the pears. fe~v people I have met with in the course of mny It was impessible for me to get near enough life who have treated me kindly, in the conservatory to see what went on in the ARMADALE. 73 drawing-room, without the risk of being dis- covered. But most of the conversation reached me, except when they dropped their voices. This is the substance of what I heard: I gathered that Miss Milroy had been pre- vailed on, against her will, to take refuge from the thunder-storm in Mr. Armadales house. She said so at least, and she gave two reasons. The first was, that her father had forbidden all inter- course between the cottage and the great house. Mr. Armadale met this objection by declaring that her father had issued his orders under a total misconception of the truth, and by entreat- ing her not to treat him as cruelly as the ma-. jor had treated him. He. entered, I suspect, into some explanations at this point, but, as he dropped his voice, I am unable to say what they were. His language, when I did hear it, was confused and ungrammatical. It seemed, ho~v- ever, to be quite intelligible enough to persuade Miss Milroy that her father had been acting under a mistaken impression of the circum- stances. At least I infer this; for, when I next heard the conversation, the young lady was driven back to her second objection to being in the housewhich was, that Mr. Armadale had behaved very badly to her, and that he richly deserved that she should never speak to him again. In this latter case Mr. Armadale attempted no defense of any kind. He agreed with her thathe had behaved badly; he agreed with her that he richly deserved she should never speak to him again. At the same time he implored her to remember that he had suffered his pun- ishment already. He was disgraced in the neighborhood; and his dearest friend, his one intimate friend in the world, had that very morn- ing turned against him like the rest. Far or near, there ~vas not a living creature whom he was fond of to comfort him or to say a friendly word to him. He was lonely and miserable, and his heart ached for a little kindnessand that was his only excuse for asking Miss Milroy to forget and forgive the past. I must leave you, I fear, to judge for your- selfof the effect of this on the young lady; for though I tried hard I failed to catch what she said. I am almost certain I heard her crying, and Mr. Armadale entreating her not to break his heart. They whispered a great deal, which aggravated me. I was afterward alarmed by Mr. Armadale coming out into the conservatory to pick some flowers. He did not come as far, fortunately, as the place where I was hidden; and he went in again into the drawing-room, and there was more talking (I suspect at close quarters), which to my great regret I again failed to catch. Pray forgive me for having so little to tell you. I can only add, that when the storm cleared off Miss Milroy went away ~vith the flowers in her hand, and with Mr. Armadale escorting her from the house. My own humble opinion is that he had a powerful friend at court, all through the interview, in the young ladys own liking for him. This is all I can say at present, ~vith the exception of one other thing I heard, ~vhich .1 blush to mention. But your word is law, and you have ordered me to have no conceahacuts from you. Their talk turned once, dear madam, on yourself. I think I heard the word Creature from Miss Milroy; and I am certain that Mr. Armadale, while acknowledging that he had once admired you, added that circumstances had since satisfied him of his folly. I quote his o~vn expressionit made me quite tremble with indignation. If I may be permitted to say so, the man who admires Miss Gwilt lives in paradise. Respect, if nothing else, ought to have closed Mr. Armadales lips. He is my employer, I knd~vbut, after his calling it an act of folly to admire you (though I am his deputy steward), I utterly despise him. Trusting that I may have been so happy as to give you satisfaction thus far, and earnestly desirous to deserve the honor of your continued confidence in me, I remain, dear madam, Your grateful and devoted servant, FELIX BAsmIwooD. 2.From Mrs. Oldersliaw to Miss Gwilt. DIANA STREET, Monday, July 21. Mv DEAR LYDIA,I trouble you with a few lines. They are written under a sense of the duty which I owe to myself in our present po- sition toward each other. I am not at all satisfied ~vith the tone of your two last letters; and I am still less pleased at your leaving me this morning without any letter tjt alland this when ~ve had arranged, in the doubtful state of our prospects, that I was to hear from yots every day. I can only inter- pret your conduct in one way. I can only in- fer that matters at Thorpe-Ambrose, having been all mismanaged, are all going wrong. It is not my present object to reproach you, for why should I waste time, language, and pa- per? I merely wish to recall to your memory certain considerations which you appear to be disposed to overlook. Shall I put them in the plainest English? Yesfor with all my faults I am frankness personified. In the first place, then, I have an interest in your becoming Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe- Ambrose as well as you. Secondly, I have pro- vided you (to say nothing of good advice) with all the money needed to accomplish our object. Thirdly, I hold your notes -of- hand at short dates for every farthing so advanced. Fourth- ly and lastly, though I am indulgeutto a fault in the capacity of a friendin the capacity of a woman of business, my dear, I am not to be trifled with. That, is all, Lydia, at least for the present. Pray dont suppose I write in anger; J am only sorry and disheartened. My state Qtt~Iind resembles Davids. If, I had the wings Qf a dove, I would flee away and be at rest. Affectionately yours, MARIA OLDERsHAW. 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 3.From Mr Basliwood to Miss Gwzlt. Taoins-AMBRosE, Jtay 21. DEAR MADAM,-You will probably receive these lines a few hours after, my yesterdays communication reaches you. I posted my first letter last night, and I shall post this before noon to-day. My present object in writing is to give you some more news from this house. I have the inexpressible happiness of announcing that Mr. Armadales disgraceful intrusion on your privacy is at an end. The watch set on your actions is to be withdrawn this day. I write, dear rand- am, with the tears in my eyestears of joy, caused by feelings which I ventured to express in my previous letter (see first paragraph to- ward the end). Pardon me this personal ref- erence. I can speak to you (I dont know why) so much more readily with my pen than with my tongue~ Let me try to compose myself and proceed with my narrative. I had just arrived at the stewards office this morning when Mr. Pedgift the elder fol- lo~ved me to the great house to see Mr. Arma- dale by special appointment. It is needless to say that I at once suspended any little business there was to do, feeling that your interests might possibly be concerned. It is also most gratify- ing to add that this time circumstances favored me. I was able to stand under the open win- dow and to hear the whole interview. Mr. Armadale explained himself at once in the plainest terms. He gave orders that the person who had been hired to ~vatch you should be instantly dismissed. On being aske4 to ex- plain this sudden change of purpose, he did not conceal that.it was owing to the effect produced on his mind by what had passed between Mr. Midwinter and himself on the previous day. Mr. Midwinters language, cruelly unjust as it was, had nevertheless convinced him that no necessity whatever could excuse any proceeding so essentially base in itself as the employment of a spy, and on that conviction he was now de- termined to act. But for your own positive directions to me to conceal nothing that passes here in which your name is concerned, I should really be ashamed to report what Mr. Pedgift said on his side. He has behaved kindly to me, I know. But if he was my own brother I could never forgive him the tone in which he spoke of you, and the obstinacy with which he tried to make Mr. Arrnad~e~.binge his mind. He b~su~hyattaeking Mr. Midwinter. He declared that Mr. Midwinters opinion was the very worst opiukin that could be taken; for it was quite plain that you, dear madam, had twisted him round your finger. Producing no effeet by this coarse suggestion (which nobody wh& knews you could for a moment believe), Mr. Pecigift next referred to Miss Milroy, and asked Mr. Armadale if he had given up all idea of protecting her. What this meant I can not imagine. I can only report it for your private consideration. Mr. Armadale briefly answered that he had his own plan for protecting Miss Milroy, and that the circumstances were altered in that quarter, or words to a similar effect. Still Mr. Pedgift persisted. He went on (I blush to mention) from bad to worse. He tried to persuade Mr. Armadale next to bring an action at law against one or other of the persons who had been most strongly condemn- ing his conduct in the neighborhood for the purposeI really hardly know how to write it of getting you into the witness-box. And worse yet; when Mr. Armadale still said No, Mr. Pedgift, after having, as I suspected by the sound of his voice, been on the point of leaving the room, artfully came back and pro- posed sending for a detective officer from Lon- don simply to look at you. The whole of this mystery about Miss Gwilts true character, he said, may turn on a question of identity. It won t cost much to have a man down from London; and its worth trying whether her face is or is not known at head-quarters to the police. I again and again assure you, dearest lady, that I only repeat those abominable words from a sense of duty toward yourself. I shook I decl:ne I shook from head to foot when I heard tiem. To resume, for there is more to tell you. Mr. Armadale (to his creditI dont deny it, though I dont like him) still said No. He appeared to be getting irritated under Mr. Ped- gifts persistence, and he spoke in a somewhat hasty way. You persuaded me on the last occasion when we talked about this, he said, to do something that I have been since hearti- ly ashamed of. You wont succeed in persuad- ing me, Mr. redgift, a second time. Those were his words. Mr. Pedgift took him up short; Mr. Pedgift seemed to be nettled on his side. If that is the light in which you see my advice, Sir, he said, the less you have of it for the future the better. Your character and po- sition are publicly involved in this matter be- tween yourself and Miss Gwilt; and you per- sist, at a most critical moment, in taking a course of your own, wliich~ I believe will end badly. After what I have already ~aid and done in this very serious case, I cant consent to go on with it with both my hands tied; and I cant drop it with credit to myself, while I re- main publicly known as your solicitor. You leave me no alternative, Sir, but to resign the honor of acting as your legal adviser. I am sorry to hear it, says Mr. Armadale, but I have suffered enough already through interfer- ing with Miss Gwilt. I cant and wont stir any further in the matter. You may not stir any further in it, Sir, says Mr. Pedgift, and I shall not stir any further in it, for it has ceased to be a question of professional interest to me. But mark my words, Mr. Armadale, you are not at the end of this business yet. Some other persons curiosity may go on from the point where you (and I) have stopped, and ARMADALE. 75 some other persons hand may let the broad daylight in yet on Miss Gwilt. I report their language, dear madam, almost word for word, I believe, as I heard it. It pro- duced an indescribable impression on me; it filled me, I hardly know why, with quite a pan- ic of alarm. I dont at all understand it, and I understand still less what happened immedi- ately afterward. Mr. Pedgifts voice, when he said those last words, sounded dreadfully close to me. He must have been speaking at the open window, and he must, I fear, have seen me under it. I had time, before he left the house, to get out quietly from among the laurels, hut not to get back to the office. Accordingly I walked away along the drive toward the lodge, as if I was going on some errand connected with the stew- ards business. Before long Mr. Pedgift overtook me in his gig, and stopped. So you feel some curiosity about Miss Gwilt, do you? he said. Gratify your curiosity by all meansI dont object to it. I felt naturally nervous, but I managed to ask him what he meant. He didnt answer; he only looked down at me from the gig in a very odd manner, and laughed. I have known stranger things happen even than that! he said to himself, suddenly, and drove off. I have ventured to trouble you with this last incident, though it may seem of no import- ance in your eyes, in the hope that your supe- rior ability may be able to explain it. My own poor faculties, I confess, are quite unable to penetrate Mr. Pedgifts meaning. All I know is, that he has no right to accuse me of any such impertinent feeling as curiosity in relation to a lady whom I ardently esteem and admire. t dare not put it in warmer words. I have only to add that I am in a position to he of continued service to you here if you wish it. Mr. Armadale has just been into the office, and has told me briefly that, in Mr. Mid- winters continued absence, I am still to act as stewards deputy till further notice. Believe me, dear madam, Anxiously and devotedly yours, FELIX BAsuwooD. 4.From Aflan Armadale to the Rae. Deejinus Brock. TuoaPs-AMOROsE, Tuesday. Mv DEAR Ma. Baocst,I am in and trou- ble. Midwinter has quarreled with me and left me; and my lawyer has quarreled with me and left me; and (except dear little Miss Milroy, who has forgiven me) all the neighbors have turned their backs on me. There is a good deal about ,ne in this, but I cant help it. I am very miserable alone in my own house. Do, pray, come and see mc! You are the only old friend I have left, and I do long so to tell you about it. N.B.On my word of honor as a gentleman, I am not to blame. Yours affec tionately, ALLAN ARMADALE. P.5.I would come to you (for this plae is grown quite hateful to me), but I have a rea- son for not going too far away from Miss Mu- roy just at present. 5.From Bobert Stapleton to Allan Armadale, Esq. J3oscoMaE RECTORY, Thursday Morning. RESPECTED Sui,I sen a letter in your writing, on the table along with the others, which I am sorry to say my master is not ~vell enough to open. He is down with a sort of low fever. The doctor says it has been brought on with worry and anxiety, which master was not strong enough to bear. This seems likely; for I was with him when ho went to London last month, and what with his own business and the business of looking after that person who afterward gave us the slip, he was worried and anxious all the time; and, for the matter of that, so was I. Mv master ~vas talking of yon a day or two since. He seemed unwilling that you should know of his illness, unless he got worse. Bet I think you ought to know of it. At the same time he is not worseperhaps a trifle better. The doctor says he must be kept very quiet, and not agitated on any account. So be pleased to take no notice oe.thisI mean in the way of coming to the rectory. I have the doctors or- ders to say it is not needful, and it would only upset my master in the state he is in no~v. I will write again if you wish it. Please accept of my duty, and believe me to remain, Sir, your humble servant, ROBERT STAPLETON. P.S.The yacht has been rigged and re- painted, waiting your orders. She looks beau- tiful. 6.From Mrs. Oldershaw to Miss Gwilt. DIANA STREET, July 24. Miss GwILT,TIHI post-hour has passed for three mornings following, and has brought me no answer to myletter. Are you purposely bent on insulting me? or have you left Thorpe- Ambrose? In either case I wont put up with~ your conduct any longer. The law shall bring you to book, if I cant. Your first note-of-hand (for thirty pounds) falls due on Tuesday next, the 29th. If you had behaved with common consideration toward me I would have let you renew it with pleasure. As things are, I shall have the note presented; and if it is not paid I shall instruct my man of business to take the usual course. Yours, MARIA OLnEstsuA~v. 7.From Miss Gwilt to Mrs. Oldershau. 5 P~n~niss~ PLACE, Tuo~uaAMnEosE, July 25. MRs. OLDERSHAW, The time of your man of business being, no doubt, of some value, I write a line to assist him when he takes the usual course. He will find me waiting to be arrested in the first-floor apartments, at the above address. In my present situation, and 76 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. with my present thoughts, the best service you can possibly render me is to lock me up. L. G. 8.From Mrs. Oldershaw to Miss (iwilt. DIANA STIIEET, July 26. My DARLING LYDIA,The longer I live in this wicked world the more plainly I see that women s own tempers are the worst enemies wo- men have to contend with. What a truly re- gretable style of correspondence we have fallen into! What a sad want of self-restraint, my dear, on your side and on mine! Let me, as the oldest in years, be the first to make the needful excuses, the first to blush for my own want of self-control. Your cruel neglect, Lydia, stung me into ~vriting as I did. I am so sensitive to ill-treatment, when it is in- flicted on me by a person whom I love and ad- mireand, though turned sixty, I am still (un- fortunately for myself) so young at heart. Ac- cept my apologies for having made use of my pen, when I ought to have been content to take refuge in my pocket - handkerchief. Forgive your attached Maria for being still young at heart! But oh, my dearthough I own I threat- ened youhow hard of you to take me at my word! How cruel of you, if your debt had been ten times what it is, to suppose me capa- ble (whatever I might say) of the odious inhu- manity of arresting my bosom friend! Heav- ens! have I deserved to be taken at my word in this unmercifully exact way, after the years of tender intimacy that have united us? But I dont complain; I only mourn over the frailty of our common human nature. Let us expect as little of each other as possible, my dear; we are both ~vomen, and we cant help it. I sic- dare, ~vhea I reflect on the origin of our unfor- tunate sexwhen I remember that we were all originally made of no better material than the rib of a man (and that rib of so little importance to its possessor that he never appears to have missed it afterward), I am quite astonished at our virtues, and not in the least surprised at our faults. I am wandering a little; I am losing my- self in serious thought, like that sweet charac- ter in Shakspeare who was fancy free. One last ~vord, dearest, to say that my longing for an answer to this proceeds entirely from my wish ~o hear from you again in your old friendly tone, and is quite unconnected with any curiosity to know what you are doing at Thorpe-Ambrose except such curiosity as you yourself might ap- prove. Need I add that I beg you as a favor to me to rene~v on the customary terms? I refer to the little bill due on Tuesday next, and I venture to suggest that day six ~veeks. Yours, with a truly motherly feeling, MARIA OLDERSUAW 9.From Miss (iwilt to Mrs. Oldershaw. PAEADIsE PLACE, July 27. I HAVE just got your last letter. The bra- zen impudence of it has roused Ine. I am to be treated like a child, am I ?to be threatened first, and then, if threatening fails, to be coaxed afterward? You s/sail coax me; you shall know, my motherly friend, the sort of child you have to deal with. I had a reason, Mrs. Oldershaw, for the si- lence which has so seriously offended you. I was afraidyes, actually afraidto let you into the secret of my thoughts. No such fear troubles use now. My only anxiety this morning is to make you my best acknowledgments for the manner in which you have written to me. After carefully considering it, I think the worst turn I can possibly do you is to tell ou ~vhat you are burning to kno~v. So here I am at my d~tsk, bent on telling it. You shall J~ear what has happened at Thorpe-Ambroseyou shall see my thoughts as ~dainly as I see them myself. If you dont bitterly repent, ~vhen you are at the end of this letter, not having held to your first resolution, and locked me up out of Larms way ~vhile you had the chance, my name is not Lydia Gwilt. Where did my last letter end? I dont re- member, and dont care. Make it out as von canI am not going back any further than this day week. That is to say, Sunday last. There ~vas a thunder-storm in the morning. It began to clear off toward noon. I didnt go outI waited to see Midwinter or to hear from him. (Are you surprised at my not writing Mr. before his name? We have got so famil- iar, my dear, that Mr. would he (luite out of place.) He had left me the evening before nur der very interesting circumstances. I had told him that his friend, Armadale, was persecuting me by means of a lured spy. He had declined to believe it, and had gone straight to Thorpe- Ambrose to clear the thing up. I had let him kiss my hand before he ~vent, and had looked at him as you know I can look, and touched him as von know I can touch! lie had promisesl to come back the next day (the Sunday). I felt I had secured my influence over him; and I believed he ~vould keep his word. Well, the thunder passed away as I told von. Tue weather cleared up; the peolsle walked out in their best clothes; the dinners came in from the bakers; I sat dreaming at my wretched little hired piano, nicely dressed and looking my l)estand still no Midwinter appeared. It was late in the afternoon, and I was beginning to feel offended, when a letter was brought to me. It had been left by a strange messenger who went away again immediately. I looked at the letter. Midwinter at lastin ~vriting, instead of in person. I began to feel more offended than everfor, as I told you, I thought I had used my influence over him to better purpose. The letter, when I read it, set my mind (iff in a new direction. It surprised, it puzzled, it interested me. I thought, and thotight, and thought of him, all the rest of the day. lie began by asking my pardon for having doubted what I told him. Mr. Armadales own AI~MADALTh 7? lips had confirmed me. They had quarreled (as I had anticipated they would)and he, and the man who had once been his dearest friend on earth, had parted forever. So far, I was not surprised. I was amused by his telling me in his extravagant way that he and his friend were parte(l forever; and I rather wondered what he would think when I carried out my plan, and found my way into the great house on pretense of reconciling them. But the second part of the letter set me thinking. Here it is, in his o~vn words: It is only by struggling against myself (and no language can say how hard the struggle has been) that I have decided on writing, instead of speaking to you. A merciless necessity claims my future life. I must leave Th6rpe-Ambi~o~e~ I must leave England, without hesitating, wfih- out stopping to look back. There are reasons terrible reasons, which I have madly trifled withfor my never letting Mr. Armadale set eyes on me, or hear of me again, after what has happened between us. I must go, never more to live under the same roof, never more to breathe the same air with that man. I must hide my- self from him, under an assumed name; I must put the mountains and the seas between us. I have been warned as no human creature was ever warned before. I believeI dare not tell you whyI believe that if the fascination you have for me draws me back to you, fatal conse- quences will come of it to the man whose life has been so strangely mingled with your life and minethe man who was once your admirer and my friend. And yet, feeling this, seeing it in my mind as plainly as I see the sky above my head, there is a weakness in me that still shrinks from the one imperative sacrifice of never seeing you again. I am fighting with it as a man fights ~vith the strength of his des pair. I have been near enough, not an hour since, to see the house where you live, and have forced myself away again out of sight of it. Can I force myself away farther still, now that my letter is written now, when the useless confession escapes me, and I own to loving you with the first love I have ever known, with the last love I shall ever foel? Let the coming time answer the question; I dare not write of it or think of it more. Those were the last words. In that strange way the letter ended. I felt a perf~ct fever of curiosity to know what he meant. His loving me, of course, was easy enough to. understand. But what did he mean by saying he had been warned? Why was he never to live under the same roof, never to breathe the same air again with young Arma- dale? What sort of quarrel could it be which obliged one man to hide himself from another under an assumed name, and to put the mount- ains and the seas between them? Above all, if he came back, and let mc fascinate him, why should it be fatal to the hateful lout who p05- sesses the noble fortune and lives in the great house? I never longed in my life as I longed to see him again, and put these questions to him. I got quite superstitious about it as the day drew on. They gave me a sweet-bread and a cherry pudding for dinner. I actually tried if he would come back by the stones in the plate! He will, he wont, he will, he wontand so on. It ended in he wont. I rang the bell, and had the things taken away. I contradicted Destiny quite fiercely. I said, he will! and I waited at home for him. You dont know what a pleasure it is to mc to give you all these little particulars. Count upmy bosom friend, my second mothercount up the money you have advanced on the chance of my becoming Mrs. Armadale, and then think of my feeling this breathless interest in another man. Oh, Mrs. Oldershaw, ho~vintensely I en- joy the luxury of irritating you! The day got on toward evening. I rang again, and sent down to borrow a railway time- table. What trains were there to take him away on Sunday? The national respect for the Sab- bath stood my friend. rrhere was only one train, which had started hours before he wrote to me. I ivent and consulted my glass. It paid me the compliment of contradicting the divination by cherry-stones. My glass said, Get behind the window-curtain; he wont pass the long lonely evening without coming back again to look at the house. I got behind the window-curtain, and waited with his letter in my hand. The dismal Sunday light faded, and the dis- mal Sunday quietness in the street grew quieter still. The dusk came, and I heard a step com- ing with it in the silence. My heart gave a lit- tle jumponly think of my having any heart left! I said to myself, Midwinter! And Mid- winter it was. When he came in sight he ~vas walking slow- ly, stopping and hesitating at every two or three steps. My ugly little drawing-room window seemed to be beckoning him on in spite of him- self. After ~vaiting till I saw him come to a stand-still, a little aside from the house, but still within view of my irresistible window, I put on my things and slipped out by the back way into the garden. The landlord and his family were at supper, and nobody saw inc. 1 opened the door in the wall, and got round by the lane into the street. At that awkward moment I sudden- ly remembered, what I had forgotten before, tile spy set to watch me, who was, no doubt, wait- ing somewhere in sight of the house. It was necessary to get time to think, and it was (in my state of mind) impossible to let Midwinter go without speaking to him. In great difficulties von generally decide at once, if you decide at all. I decided to make an ap- pointment with him for the next evening, and to consider in the interval ho~v to manage the interview so that it might escape observation. This, as I felt at the time, was leaving my own curiosity free to torment me for four-and-twenty mortal hourshut what other choice had I? It ~vas as good as giving up being mistress of Thorpe-Ambrose altogether to come to a pri 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. vate understanding with Midwinter in the sight and possibly in the hearing of Armadales spy. Findincr an old letter of yours in my pocket, I drew back into the lane, and wrote on the blank leaf, with the little pencil that hangs at my watch-chain: I must and will speak to you. It is impossible to-night, hut be in the strcet to-morrow at this time, and leave me aft- erward forever, if you like. When you have read this, overtake me, and say as you pass, without stopping or looking round, Yes, I prom- ise. I folded up the paper and came on him sud- denly from behind. As he started and turned round I put the note into his hand, pressed his hand, and passed on. Before I had taken ten steps I heard him behind me. I cant say he didnt look roundI saw his big black eyes, bright and glittering in the dusk, devour me from head to foot in a moment; but otherwise he did what I told him. I can deny you no- thing, he whispered; I promise. He went on and left me. I couldnt help thinking at the time how that brute and booby Armadale would havc spoiled every thing in the same situation. I tried hard all night to think of a way of making our interview of the next evening safe from discovery, and tried in vain. Even as early as this .1 began to feel as if. Midwinters letter bad in some unaccountable manner stu- pefied me. Monday morning made mntters wore. News came from my faithful ally, Mr. Bashwood, that Miss Milroy and Armadale had met and become friends again. You may fancy the state I was in I An hour or two later there came more news from Mr. Bashwoodgood ne~vs this time. The mischievous idot at Th.rpe-Ambrose had shown sense enough at last to be ashamed of himself. He had decided on withdrawing the spy that very day, and be and his lawyer had quarreled in consequence. So here was the obstacle which I was too stupid to remove for myself obligingly removed for me! No more need to fret about the coming interview with Midwinterand plenty of time to consider my next proceedings, now that Miss Milroy and her precious swain had come to- gether again. Would you believe it, the letter, or the man himself (I dont know which), had taken such a hold on me that, though I tried and tried, I could think of nothing elseand this, when I had every reason to fear that Miss Milroy was in a fair way of changing her name to Armadale, and when 1 knew that my heavy debt of obligation to her was not paid yet? Was there ever such perversity? I cant ac- count for itcan you? He said nothing in the way of reply. What was going on in his mind I cant pretend to guessbut, after coming to his appointment, he actually hung back as if he was half inclined to go away again. You look as if you were afraid of me, I said. I am afraid of you, he answered of you and of myself. It was not encouraging; it was not com- plimentary. But I was in such a frenzy of cu- riosity by this time, that if he had been ruder still I should have taken no notice of it. I led the way a few steps toward the new buildings, and stopped and looked round after him. Must I ask it of you us a favor, I said, after your giving me your proniise, and after such a letter as you have written to me? Something suddenly changed him; lie w as at my side in an instant. I beg your pardon, Miss Gwilt ; lead the way where you please. He dropped back a little after that answer, and I heard him say to himself, What is to be will be. What have I to do with it,and what has she? It could hardly have been the words, for I didnt understand themit must have been the tone he spoke in, I suppose, that made me feel a momentary tremor. I was half inclined, with- out the ghost of a reason for it, to wish him good-night and go in again. Not much like me, you will say. Not much, indeed! It didnt last a moment. Your darling Lydia soon came to her senses again. I led the way toward the unfinished cot- tages and the country beyond. It would have been much more to my taste to have had him into the house, and have talked to him in the light of the candles. But I had risked it once already; and in this scandal-mongering place, and in my critical position, I was afraid to risk it again. The garden was not to be thought of eitherfor the landlord smokes his pipe there after his supper. There was no alternative but to take him away from the town. From time to time I looked back as I went on. There lie ~vas, always at the same distance, dim and ghostlike in the dusk, silently follow- ing me. I must leave off for a little while.. The church bells have broken out, and the jangling of them drives me mad. In these days, when we have all got watches or clocks, why are bells wanted to remind us when the service begins? We dont require to be rung into the theatre. How excessively discreditable to the clergy to be obliged to ring us into the church! They have rung the congregation i~i at The dusk of the evening came at last. I lastand I can take up my pea and go on looked out of the windowand there he was! again. I joined him at once; the people of the I was a little in doubt where to lead him house, as before, being too much absorbed in to. The high-road was on one side of me their eating and drinking to notice any thing but, empty as it looked, somebody might be else. We mustnt be seen together here, I passing when we least expected it. The other whispered. I must go on first, and you must way was through the coppice. I led him through follow me. . the coppice. ARMADALE. 79 At the outskirts of the trees, on the other side, there was a dip in the ground, with some felled timber lying in it, and a little pool be- yond, still and white and shining in the twi- light. The long grazing grounds rose over its farther shore, with the mist thickening on them, and a dim black line far away of cattle in slow procession going home. There wasnt a living creature near; there wasnt a sound to be heard. I sat down on one of the felled trees and looked back for him. Come, I said, softly, come and sit by me here. Why am I so particular about all this? I hardly know. The place made an unaccounta- bly vivid impression on me, and I cant help ~vriting about it. If I end badlysuppose we say on the scaffold ?I believe the last thing I shall see, before the hangman pulls the drop, will be the little shining pool, and the long misty grazing grounds, and the cattle winding dimly home in the thickening ni,,ht. Dont be alarmed, you worthy creature! My fancy plays me strange tricks sometimesand there is a little of last nights laudanum, I dare say, in this part of my letter. He camein the strangest silent ~vay, like a man walking in his sleephe came and sat down by me. Either the night was very close, or I was by this time literally in a feverI couldnt bear my bonnet on; I couldnt bear my gloves. The want to look at him and see what his singular silence meant, and the im- possibility of doing it in the darkening light, irritated my nerves till I thought I should have screamed. I took his hand to try if that would help me. It was burning hot; and it closed in- stantly on mineyou know how. Silence. after that, was not to be thought of. The one safe way was to begin talking to him at once. Dont despise met I said. I am obliged to bring you to this lonely place; I should lose my character if we were seen together. I waited a little. His hand warned me once more not to let the silence continue. I determined to make him speak to me this time. You have interested me and frightened me, I went on. You have written me a very strange letter. I must know what it means. It is too late to ask. You have taken the way, and Ihave taken the way, from which there is no turning back. He made that strange an- swer in a tone that was quite new to mea tone that made me even more uneasy than his silence had made me the moment before. Too late, he repeated, too late! There is only one ques- tion to ask me now. XVhat is it? As I said the words a sudden trembling passed from his hand to mine, and told me in- stantly that I had better have held my tongue. Before I could move, before I could think, he had me in his arms. Ask me if I love you, he whispered. At the same moment his head sank on my bosom; and some unutterable tor- tire that was in him burst its way out~ as it does with us, in a passion of sobs and tears. My first impulse was the impulse of a fool. I was on the point of making our usual protest and defending myself in our usual way. Luckily or unluckily, I dont know which, I have lost the fine edge of the sensitiveness of youth; and I checked the first movement of my hands and the first word on my lips. Oh dear, how old I felt while he was sobbing his heart out on my breast! Ho~v I thought of the time when he might have possessed himself of my love! All he had possessed himself of now wasmy waist. I wonder whether I pitied him? It doesnt matter if I did. At any rate, my hand lifted itself someho~v, and my fingers twined them- selves softly in his hair. Horrible recollections came back to me of other times and made me shudder as I touched him. And yet I did it. What fools women are! I wont reproach you, I said, gently; I wont say this is a cruel advantage to take of me in such a position as mine. You are dreadfully agitatedI will let you wait a little and com- pose yourself. Having got as far as that, I stopped to con- sider how I should put the questions to him that I was burning to ask. But I was too confused, I suppose, or perhaps too impatient to consider. I let out what was uppermost in my mind in the ~vords that came first. 1 dont believe you love me, I said. You write strange things to me; you frighten me with mysteries. What did you mean by saying in your letter that it would be fatal to Mr. Ar- madale if you came back td me? What dan- ger can there be to Mr. Armadale? Before I could finish the question he sud- denly lifted his head and unclasped his arms. I had apparently touched some painful subject which recalled him to himself. Instead of my shrinking from him it was he who shrank from me. I felt offended with him; Why,. I dont knowbut offended I was; and I thanked him with my bitterest emphasis for remembering what was due to me, at last! .Do you believe in Dreams? he burst out in the most strangely abrupt manner, without taking the slightest notice of what I had said to him. Tell me, he went on, without allow- ing inc time to answer; were you, or was any relation of yours, ever connected with Allan Armadales father or mother? Were you, or was any body belonging to you, ever in the isl- and of Madeira? Conceive my astonishment if you can. I turned cold. In an instant I turned cold all over. He was plainly in the secret of what had happened when I was in Mrs. Armadales serv- ice in Madeirain all probability before he was born! That was startling enough of itself. And he had evidently some reason of his own for trying to connect me with those events which was more startling still. No, I said, as soon as I could trust my- self to speak. I know nothing of his father or mother. And nothing of the island of Madeira? 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Nothing oi~ the island of Madeira. forgive me, if you canI am not myself to- He turned his head away, and began talk- night. ing to himself. I am not angry, I said; I have nothing Strange! he said. As certainly as I to forgive. We are both imprudentwe are was in the Shadows place at the window, size both unhappy. I laid my head on his shoul- was in the Shadows place at the pool! der. Do you really love me? I asked him Under other circumstances his extraordi- softly, in a whisper. nary behavior might have alarmed me. But His arm stole round me again; and I felt after his question about Madeira there was tite quick beat of his heart get quicker and quick- some greater fear in me which kept all common er. if you only kne~v! he whispered back; alarm at a distance. I dont think I ever de- if you only knew~. He could say no more. termined on any thing in my life as I determ- I felt his face beading toward mine, and dropped med on finding out how he had got his informa- my head lower, and stopped him in the very act tion, and who he really ~vas. It was quite l)laifl of kissing me. No, I said; I am only a wo- to me that I had roused some hidden feeling in man who Itas taken your fancy. You are treat- him by my question about Armadale, which ~vas ing me as if I was your promised wife. as strong in its way as his feeling for me. Wltat Be my promised wife! he whispered ca- had become of my influence over him? gerly, and tried to raise my head. I kept it Icouldnt imagine what had become of it; down. The horror of those old remembrances but I could and did set to work to make him feel that you know of came back, and made me it again, tremble a little when he asked me to he his ~vife. Dont treat me cruelly, I said; I didnt I dont think I was actually faint.; but some- treat ~ou cruelly just now. Oh, Mr. Midwinter, thing like faintness made me close my eyes. its so lonely, its so darkdont frighten me! The moment I shut them the darkness seemed to Frighten you! lie was close to me again open as if lightning had split it; and the ghosts in a moment. Frighten you! He repeated of those other men rose in the horrid gap and the word with as much astonishment as if I had looked at me. woke him from a dream, and charged him with Speak to me! he whispered, tenderly. something that he had said in his sleep. My darling, my angel, speak to me! It was on the tip of my tongue, finding how His voice helped me to recover myself. I I had surprised him, to take him while he was had just sense enough left to remember that the off his guard, and to ask why my question time was passing, and that I had trot put my about Armadale had produced such a change in question to him yet about his name. his behavior to me. But after what had hap- Suppose I felt for you as you feel for me? pened already I was afraid to risk returning to I said. Suppose I loved you dearly enough to the subject too soon. Something or other trust you ~vith the happiness of all my life to ~vhat they call an instinct, I date saywarned come? me to let Armadale alone for the present, and I paused a moment to get my breath. It to talk to him first about himself. As I told was unbearably still and closethe air seemed you in one of my early letters, I had noticed to have died when the night came. signs and tokens in his manner and appearance Would you be marrying me honorably, I ~vhich convinced me, young as he was, that he ivent on, if you married me in your present had done something or suffered something out name? of the common in his past life. I had asked His arm dropped from my waist, and I felt n~yself more and more suspiciously every time I him give one great start. After that he sat by saw him, whether he was what he appeared to me, still, and cold, and silent, as if my question be; and first and foremost among my other had struck him dumb. I put my arm round doubts was a doubt whether he was passing his neck, and lifted my head again on his shoul- among us by his real name. Having secrets to der. Whatever the spell was I had laid on him keep about my own past life, and having gone my coming closer in that way seemed to break it. myself in other days by more than oneassumed Who told you?he stopped. No, he went name, I suppose I am all the readier to suspect on, ~tohody can have told you. What made other people when I find something mysterious you suspect? He stopped again. about them. Any way, having the suspicion in Nobody told me, I said; and I dont my mind, I determined to startle him, as he know ~vhat made me susl)eet. Women have had startled me, by an unexpected question on strange fancies sometimes. Is Midwinter real- my sidea question about his name. ly your name? While I was thinking he was thinkingand, I cant deceive you, he answered, after as it soon appeared, of wh at I had just said to another interval of silence; Midwinter is not him. I am so grieved to have frightened you, really my name. he whispered, with that gentleness and hutnility I nestled a little closer to him. which we all so heartily despise in a man when What is your name? I asked. he speaks to other women, and whh~h we all so He hesitated. dearly like when he speaks to ourselves. I I lifted my face till my cheek just touched hardly kno~v what I have been saying, he went his. I persisted, with my lips close at his ear, on; my tnind is miserably disturbed. Pray What, no confidence in me es-en vet! No OUR THANKSGIVING. 81 confidence in the woman who has almost con- fessed she loves youwho has almost consented to he your wife! He turned his face to mine. For the sec- ond time he tried to kiss me, and for the second time I stopped him. If I tell you my name, he said, I must tell you more. I let my cheek touch his cheek again. Why not? I said. How can I love a manmuch less marry himif he keeps him- self a stranger to me? There was no answering that, as I thought. But he did answer it. It is a dreadful story, he said. It may darken all your life, if you know it, as it has darkened mine. I put my other arm round him, and per- sisted. Tell it me; Im not afraid; tell it me. He began to yield to my other arm. Will you keep it a sacred secret? he said. Never to he breathednever to he known but to you and me? I promised him it should be a secret. I waited in a perfect frenzy of expectation. Twice he tried to begin, and twice his courage failed him. I cant! he broke out, in a wild, helpless way. I cant tell it! My curiosity, or more likely my temper, got beyond all control. He had irritated me till I was reckless what I said or what I did. I sud- denly clasped him close, and pressed my lips to his. I love you! I whispered in a kiss. Now will you tell me? For the moment he was speechless. I dont know whether I did it purposely to drive him wild. I dont know whethex I did it involun- tarily in a burst of rage. Nothing is certain hut that I interpreted his silence the wrong way. I pushed him back from me in a fury the instant after I had kissed him. I hate you! I said. You have maddened me into forgetting myself. Leave me! I dont care for the darkness. Leave me instantly, and never see me again! He caught me by the hand and stopped me. He spoke in a new voicehe suddenly com- mended, as only men can. Sit down, he said. You have given me hack my courageyou shall know who I am. In the silence and the darkness all round us I obeyed him, and sat down. In the silence and the darkness all round us he took me in his arms again, and told me who he was. Shall I trust you with his story? Shall I tell you his real name? Shall I show you, as I threatened, the thoughts that have grown out of my interview with him, and out of all that has happened to me since that time? Or shall I keep his secret as I promised? and keep my own secret too, by bringing this weary long letter to an end at the very moment when you are burning to hear more? Those are serious questions, Mrs. Older- VOL. XXXII.No. 187.F shawmore serious than you suppose. I have had time to calm down, and I begin to see what I failed to see when I first took up my pen to write to youthe wisdom of looking at conse- quences. Have I frightened myself in trying to frighten you? It is possiblestrange as it may seem, it is really possible. I have been at the window for the last min- ute or two, thinking. There is plenty of time for thinking before the post leaves. The people are only now coming out of church. I have settled to put my letter on one side, and to take a look at my diary. In plainer words, I must see what I risk if I decide on trusting you; and my diary will show me what my head is too weary to calculate without help. I have written the story of my days (and some- times the story of my nights) much more regu- larly than usual for the last week, having rea- sons of my own for being particularly careful in this respect under present circumstances. If I end in doing what it is now in my mind to do, it would be madness to trust to my memory. The smallest forgetfulness of the slightest event that has happened from the night of my inter- view with Midwinter to the present time might be utter ruin to me. Utter ruin to her! you will say. What kind of ruin does she mean? Wait a little, till I have asked my diary whether I can safely tell you. OUR THANKSGIVING. 1 DONT believe we shall have a bit of fun, I said Susy. Why, aint she going to have a pudding ? That was Harry all over. Oh, I spose therell he a pudding, cause Mr. Smith he sent up some raisins this mornin I peeked into the paper. But there isnt a single sign of a evergreen trimmin put up, nor - a flag, nor a any thing. And mother she just looks so sober, and she haint laughed all day long. Oh, Ithink its real horrid. I saw her cry too. She sent me after a clean handkerchief. She did! Well, I spose its all about Will. You know he came home last Thanksgiving.~, Will allers laughed Thanksgivin, Sue. My! didnt he put it into the nuts and raisings, and string up the wish-bones! Harry! why how you act! Wills dead, you know. I cant help it, said Harry, apologetically. I allers had good times with him. I wish he wasnt dead. Didnt he look funny in mothers bonnet after dinner I wish he wasnt dead too, Harry; but then he is, you know. I tried to cry this mornin when mother kep wipin her eyes, but I didnt after all. I wish she wouldnt look so horrid sober. You see if we have a nice timeI know we shant. Well, said Harry, after a moments con- sideration, theres the turkey, any how.

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart Our Thanksgiving 81-85

OUR THANKSGIVING. 81 confidence in the woman who has almost con- fessed she loves youwho has almost consented to he your wife! He turned his face to mine. For the sec- ond time he tried to kiss me, and for the second time I stopped him. If I tell you my name, he said, I must tell you more. I let my cheek touch his cheek again. Why not? I said. How can I love a manmuch less marry himif he keeps him- self a stranger to me? There was no answering that, as I thought. But he did answer it. It is a dreadful story, he said. It may darken all your life, if you know it, as it has darkened mine. I put my other arm round him, and per- sisted. Tell it me; Im not afraid; tell it me. He began to yield to my other arm. Will you keep it a sacred secret? he said. Never to he breathednever to he known but to you and me? I promised him it should be a secret. I waited in a perfect frenzy of expectation. Twice he tried to begin, and twice his courage failed him. I cant! he broke out, in a wild, helpless way. I cant tell it! My curiosity, or more likely my temper, got beyond all control. He had irritated me till I was reckless what I said or what I did. I sud- denly clasped him close, and pressed my lips to his. I love you! I whispered in a kiss. Now will you tell me? For the moment he was speechless. I dont know whether I did it purposely to drive him wild. I dont know whethex I did it involun- tarily in a burst of rage. Nothing is certain hut that I interpreted his silence the wrong way. I pushed him back from me in a fury the instant after I had kissed him. I hate you! I said. You have maddened me into forgetting myself. Leave me! I dont care for the darkness. Leave me instantly, and never see me again! He caught me by the hand and stopped me. He spoke in a new voicehe suddenly com- mended, as only men can. Sit down, he said. You have given me hack my courageyou shall know who I am. In the silence and the darkness all round us I obeyed him, and sat down. In the silence and the darkness all round us he took me in his arms again, and told me who he was. Shall I trust you with his story? Shall I tell you his real name? Shall I show you, as I threatened, the thoughts that have grown out of my interview with him, and out of all that has happened to me since that time? Or shall I keep his secret as I promised? and keep my own secret too, by bringing this weary long letter to an end at the very moment when you are burning to hear more? Those are serious questions, Mrs. Older- VOL. XXXII.No. 187.F shawmore serious than you suppose. I have had time to calm down, and I begin to see what I failed to see when I first took up my pen to write to youthe wisdom of looking at conse- quences. Have I frightened myself in trying to frighten you? It is possiblestrange as it may seem, it is really possible. I have been at the window for the last min- ute or two, thinking. There is plenty of time for thinking before the post leaves. The people are only now coming out of church. I have settled to put my letter on one side, and to take a look at my diary. In plainer words, I must see what I risk if I decide on trusting you; and my diary will show me what my head is too weary to calculate without help. I have written the story of my days (and some- times the story of my nights) much more regu- larly than usual for the last week, having rea- sons of my own for being particularly careful in this respect under present circumstances. If I end in doing what it is now in my mind to do, it would be madness to trust to my memory. The smallest forgetfulness of the slightest event that has happened from the night of my inter- view with Midwinter to the present time might be utter ruin to me. Utter ruin to her! you will say. What kind of ruin does she mean? Wait a little, till I have asked my diary whether I can safely tell you. OUR THANKSGIVING. 1 DONT believe we shall have a bit of fun, I said Susy. Why, aint she going to have a pudding ? That was Harry all over. Oh, I spose therell he a pudding, cause Mr. Smith he sent up some raisins this mornin I peeked into the paper. But there isnt a single sign of a evergreen trimmin put up, nor - a flag, nor a any thing. And mother she just looks so sober, and she haint laughed all day long. Oh, Ithink its real horrid. I saw her cry too. She sent me after a clean handkerchief. She did! Well, I spose its all about Will. You know he came home last Thanksgiving.~, Will allers laughed Thanksgivin, Sue. My! didnt he put it into the nuts and raisings, and string up the wish-bones! Harry! why how you act! Wills dead, you know. I cant help it, said Harry, apologetically. I allers had good times with him. I wish he wasnt dead. Didnt he look funny in mothers bonnet after dinner I wish he wasnt dead too, Harry; but then he is, you know. I tried to cry this mornin when mother kep wipin her eyes, but I didnt after all. I wish she wouldnt look so horrid sober. You see if we have a nice timeI know we shant. Well, said Harry, after a moments con- sideration, theres the turkey, any how. 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The sitting-room door closed then, and little feet pattered up stairs on their way to bed. The parlor was cold, and the twilight hung and deepened in the room. Just in front of me the frosts had frescoed the window, and the light of a faint, rising moon struck through them. In one little spot the children had dimmed away the silver tracery by their warm breath but a few moments ago. Through it, in the shadow of the church, something stood out alone and stillsomething which had drawn me into this lonely room, and fastened and held my eyes on the cold, cruel windowsomething which no close-closed curtains or warm home- lights could ever shut out; which the width of a e~orld could not separate from me; whose shadow fell across my very prayers, and dark- ened the face of Godthe grave. This night it was so cold. The frosts, weav- ing and weaving their pattern on the window, chilled it so. What did those children mean? How merrily they were romping into bed up stairs! I wished they would notto.night to.niqht. The frosts, weaving and weaving their pat- tern on the window, weaved out of sight the church shadow and that within it. Only the glitter of the silvered picture was left, with the moon faint behind it. I drew my shawl over my shoulders and went into the other room. A bright fire was crackling on the hearth; the curtains were drawn, red and warm and cozy, behind the ivies; my rocking-chair was in its place, with the cricket pushed up beside it that was Susy. She was always thoughtful more like I found I was chilled through, and sat down by the fire. Then I covered my face with, my hands. God knows howl had dreaded this day which was coming; how for months I had shrank from it, and pleaded with it to pass me by; how I had talked with it in drenms, and been wak- ened by my tears, and prayed for strength to live it through; how like a phantom it had con- fronted me, and haunted me, and dogged my steps, and the strength had not come. And now it was upon me. Our Thanksgivings had been no more, I sup- pose, to us than to any who love the day; the tender household memories clustering around them no sweeter and no dearer than thousands and thousands; nor was my grief more than any other mothers grief. But what was that to me or mine? Our loss was as irreparable, my grief as solitary, as if the universe held no other. For the heart knoweth its own bitter- ness. He loved these days somy boy; he loved them so. For him and because of him they had always been so bright. And it was only the lastonly the last ~ne that he was with us. Just for a few days the short, happy fur- lough lasteddays that brighten as the distance between me and them grows wider and darker. I remember his face as I met him at the door. It was only Mother ! and Oh, Willie! only a close clasping and a long kiss. All that day I could not see him except through thick- falling tears; happy tears I called them; yet now I can read the prophecy of their pain. God did not tell me that he would not come home to his mother again; but I knew it from the moment he crossed the threshold I knew it. And here was the day staring me in the face. What will you think of me, if I say that in my childrens prattle thnt night I saw for myself no reproof; that indeed I was almost vexed witlt their thoughtless joy; their merry voices stung me; I shrank away from their little plays and laughter. It was the silence only that I heard. Hehe was my first-born, and I loved him. To li~e through to-morrows festival without him; to fill it with the old glad customs and the old rejoicings; to come to the table and see only that one vacant chair; to watch the chil- dren play about the fire, where he had played among them; to sit and worship and give thanks in the church to which he had walked with us in company, and from which we had borne him to his rest; to keep eyes free from tears and lips from quivering. Mary, said a voice beside me. My hus- band had come in from his study, and wns pacing the room in his restless way. Well? I suppose you have been preparing forto- morrow ? The children shall have their dinner; what else can I do ? We do not want them to have a gloomy day of it, Mary. I can not, can not help it. John, you know. He came up and laid his hand upon my bowed head. I know, Mary, I know. I am stronger to bear it than you. I will try and be cheerful for both of us: it ~vill soon be over. That was just like him; all my burdens were his own; all my pain doubly his. I might have known how it would be. Was this sorrow mnk- ing me forgetful of my husband? Could I be that? Oh, John. I am so selfish! but you know I loved him soif I could be brighter, John! I understand it all. Why, Mary ! He took me in his arms as I broke into sob- bing; he took me in his arms like a child, and sitting there beside the fire we talked a long time. I can not tell you what we said. This our child, whom the Lord had taken, was dear to him as to me; for him as for me the path we trod was very dark. But when at last he left me we understood one another, as in every trouble we always had understood. We could bear any thing together. I heard him take his hat, go out of the hall- door, and close it behind him. I went to the window which the frost ~vas painting thicker and thicker with its cold clear pictures, and OUR THANKSGIVING. 83 through it I saw a solitary figure passing over the moonlit snow and into the shadow of the church. It was as I supposed. As I ~vent back to the fire some sleighing party in the street shot by, singing a merry Thanksgiving song. I expect only those who mourn to understand how I listened to it. It was a little thing to hurt me; but it did. Thanks- giving! I could have laughed at the word. Should Igive thanks? For this desolated fire- side, for that~vacant chair and silent voice, for the vanished smile and touch and honsehold blessing, for those few dimmed letters, and the heart-ache of that lock of clinging hair, and the grave beneath the early snowsshould I give thanks for these? So many memories crowded into the word; so many pictures came .and ivent, as I sat there alone in the fire-light. The boy sitting just here at my feethe was the only one thencracking his nuts, and stealing the raisins from my pocket after dinner, looking up into my eyes with the pretty mischief bright in his, so great and dark and full; no one ever had eyes like Willies. He was such a pretty baby, and so dear; you see, he taught me the word mother; it was his little upturned face, and the touch of his tiny fingers, in which I first read the beauty of its holiness. How could I help it that he was ~vhat he was to me? What should I do with all this love that had grown into my heart for one-and-twenty years? Another picture. How the years went and came! He was the only one no longer; but in the group of happy faces his always stood alone to me. It was he who stilled the little ones at their quarrels or when the plays grew rough; it was he who made the beautiful Thanksgiving- days so bright to them; it was he who watched my steps about the room and drew.my chair up to the fire, and followed me with his little smile such a beautiful smile it always was! Why, somehow all the festival days are lighted with it far down the faint and fading years. I see it. When the school-boy, affecting all the lit- tle importances of the Bucolics and the first Xenophon lesson, was not ashamed to come out in the kitchen and help me stone the raisins. I see it at the merry dinner-table, and the twinkle in his eye, and the laugh, and the jest, his face all aglow with delight. I think it was a beau- tiful face. I see the smile againolder and more man- ly, but with the same childs tenderness in it; oven the mustache of the young collegian could not hide it. How we laughed at him about that mustache! He knew how proud I was of him all the while; how could I help it? Those college vacations are so many sunny days, they were so brief and bright. I remember how we watched for him at the door; how the old coach came lumbering upit passed the house just now as I write. I suppose I always hear it. I suppose I never hear it without a quickening of my pulse. I suppose I never shall. I see him bounding u~ the steps. I feel his arms about me. I see the children pulling at his sleeve. I see his facewhy will God give us such faces to be our own, our very own, and snatch them away into darkness? Yet I would not now, I would not even then, that night, with the mur- muring words npoa my lips, lose the sweet memory for ten thousand times its pain. Once more I see the smile; but it is the smile of a martyr. He knew, when he came to me, with all the hero in his eyes, fired with his pure bright dreams of sacrifice, loving his country as only her young men canwhen he came, as if he were again a child, and asked his mothers blessinghe knew to what he was going. So, I think, did I. Yet I did not say him nay. I did not hold him back with my weak tears and pleadings. I thank God for that. I thanked Him on that desolate Thanksgiving-eve. And when I go down the sloping years to meet my old age without my boy, I shall thank Him still. I am very sure of that. But you do not care to hear the rest of my story. It is yours, perhaps, as well as mine; and of its sacredness, you and I know well. I was not there to see him die. I can never go back and be there to help him die. There wns one womanvon have heard of her, per- hapsshe found him a stranger, cared for by strange hands; and when they bore him to his quick - made grave upon the battle - field she stooped to touch his face with reverent lips, and said, Let me kiss him for his mother. God bless her for that! God bless her wherever she may be! and may she never lay her first-born away under the frozen ground, where he can never call to her, or take her in his arms, or kiss her with his warm young lips! But we have brought him home since that, and in the shadow of the old familiar church he is at rest. As I sat before the fire, through all my bitter musing that night, I remembered the solitary figure pacing round and round the moonlit gravehis father loved him so. I do not say that even I, his mother, loved him more. Did I ask for strength to live through this day which was comingto live it quietly, health- fully, thankfully, remembering that mine was not a thorn-wreath, since no mortal grief de- serves that crown ? I do not know. Do we never pray for that which we will not have? Our Father, who is very patient with us, alone knows. And then thesefacts of sorrow are so sharp. It was one thing io give him upa grand, he- roic thing; it was another to find him gone To feel the door-latch stir and clink, And know tis no more henor sink. Do you know this surprise when one sits quite alone ? But, with my prayers or without them, the morning came. It came as other Thanks- giving mornings had comewith fresh, frolick- ing winds, and sunlight, and blue skies; with merry voices, with cloudless faces, and happy hearts. The children woke me with the old rap on my doorSusy and Harry and Bertie, and May 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hiding shyly in the entry, lest papa should have a peep at her night-cap, half doubting, indeed, whether she was not getting to be too much of a woman to take part in the childrens sport. How merry Willie always was at it! his little rap always the loudest, and his laugh the clear- est of all. I could not forget it, and turned away to hide the quick, hot tears. Mamma, dont talk, cried Bertie through the keyhole. I guess she hasnt woke up Mamma 1 Come away, said May, in a whisper mother feels badly to have Thanksgiving come, you know. Perhaps she isnt well lets go and dress. And hefore I found my voice the little hare feet had pattered away over the entry, and it was too late to call them baok. I remember just how yellow and murky the sunshine lay on the floors that morning, and how I thought the wind wailed about the cor- ners of the houseto me it had no frolic. The children came in from coasting while I was at work, all flushed, and eager, and happy, jostling and pushing each other at play in the entry. The moment they saw my face Susy grew sober, and May began to hush Harrys laughter. How could I help it? Wheres the evergreen trimmings ? asked Bertie, looking around the rooms with disap- pointed eyes. Theres a lot picked up gar- rets, mother. Ah, that pretty celebration of the day! I had never planned for it. It was Willies fancy, and Willies skillful fingers they were which had always made the old rooms hright and festive. How I cling to the baby-name! Yet he never minded it from me; sometimes, from a quick, pleased look in his manly eyes, I used to think he liked to have me call him so. May! May! fix the trimmings, I said, turning away. II am too busy this morn- ing. It isnt like having you, said May, her bright face falling, and then the children with puzzled eyes crept one by one away. Dinner-time came at last, and they gathered round the table gleefullyjust as gleefully, I thought, with a half bitterness, as if they had all been there. Why! whats this for? asked Harry, stop- ping. Mother, youve got one chair too many. Hush, Harry! I knowdont you see ? And then I heard Susy whispering to him. Why had I done it? I hardly knew. To lay the plates, and set the chairs, and pass that one place bythat place that always was by mineit seemed hard. It was a very little thing; but you know how dear these little things become to women sometimes. So I had put it therethe empty chair; and with its pitiful, appealing blankness beside me, I sat down to the festival meal. I remember just how every thing looked, as in a picture my husbands face, with its white, peaceful smile, the same that he had given to his boy, and the children grouped around in the old places; and a fleck of yellow sunlight that had fallen in through the warm south window upon the table-cloth. I remember every thing. I know that John had just howed his head to ask Gods blessing on our food, and the childrens eyes were closed, when I sawI saw as distinct- ly as I see this paper upon which I write the wordsa shadow fall across the empty chair. I turned my head, and I saw himmy boy Willie. I know it was Willie. You need not doubt me, for I tell you I can not be mistaken. Should not I know him, I, his mother? I looked deep, deep into his eyes. I saw the old, rare smile; I touched his own bright curls upon his forehead; I spoke to him; he spoke to me. Willie! Mother ! The voice was breathless, but it was his. Willie! Willie Again the old, rare smile. With one hand he motioned silence. His fathers voice hushed the Amen, and the children looked up and be- gan their chatter. Did you speak to me, Mary? asked my husband. Why, I thought some one spoke during the blessing. Well, Miss May, which part of the turkey shall I help you to ? So they did not see him. I alone was chosen. I looked into his face, smiling, smiling down into mine so tenderlyyou can not know how tenderly; but in his eyes I sawand I thought my heart would break to see ita certain sad, reproachful look, that I had caught on his face once, years ago, when I accused him with injus- tice of some trifling childish faulta look that had haunted me in many a still hour since. And then I heard him say distinctly, though to not another ear was the breathless voice audi- ble: Iwant them to be happy. I want you to enjoy the day. Did you think I should not be with you, mother ? He was with me, thank God! and I was happy. I talked, I laughed, I chatted with the children; their merriment increased with mine; my husbands pale face lighted up; I felt my own eyes sparkling. And all the while, where they saw only that empty chair, I saw the beau- tiful still face and happy smile. I saw him pleased with the old familiar customs. I saw him mindful of the childrens jests. I saw his eyes, full of their own home-love, turn from one to another, and back again to meI saw and I was content. All that day he was be- side me. He followed us into the sitting-room and took his old seat by the cozy fire. He list- ened to his fathers stories, and watched the children at their games, and joined us when we gathered around the piano for our twilight song. I heard his voice; the children asked what made me sing so clearly. Just as the shades began to fall heavily he DEATH. 85 drew me toward him by the frost-bound win- Mamma, youre just like the old mamma dow. I know he stooped and kissed me. I youyou used to was. know he took me in his arms, and said, as he God knows I tried to be. had said before: The little church was very still and pleasant Did you think I should not be with you, that morning, and somehow the service stole mother ? way down into my heart. It was no eloquent And then I missed him. I called to him, preacher that we heard; only a plain man, with but he did not answer. I stretched out my Gods plainest gifts of mind and culture. Many arms after him, but he did not come back to a time I should have preferred my own worship me. The room grew dark; my head swam; I to any to which he could help me. But this tottered over to my husband. morning his heart was very full. I saw that Oh, John! I have lost him! Oh, John! the day was real to him, and I listened. John ! A bit of Mrs. Brownings music kept singing Marywhy, Mary! what is the matter? itself in my soul: and he caught me in his arms. I looked up. I was not in the parlor by the frost-bound window; the children were not be- side me. The sitting-room fire had died down into the ashes; the door into the hall was open, and my husband had on his over-coat. He was holding me tightly in his arms. How you shiver, Mary! Why, my dar- ling, what has happened ? John, wherewhen did you find me ? I have just come in. I heard you cry; you called my name, I think. I know~ I know! I thoughtOh, John! John And then I told him all my dream. When I had finished he was still a long time, then Mary, perhaps the boy has been to you. At this moment the clock on the mantle struck twelve. We listened to its strokes till the last one died away. It is our Thanksgiving morning, said my husband, solemnly. Let us give thanks to God. So we knelt down and prayed together. When the morning really came, with its fresh, frolicking winds, and sunlight, and blue skies; with its merry faces and gay voices, and the happy children rapping at my door, I thought of what he said: Perhaps the boy has been to you. Sometimes I think he must have been, so real and sweet is, even now, the memory of his coming. All that day he stood beside me; all that day I saw his peace- ful face, and felt the blessing of his smile, nnd heard his low, sweet voice. What for months I had looked upon and feared with the bitter- ness of a great dread, the face, and smile, and voice made almost painless. The childrens merry greetings did not hurt me; my fingers did not tremble when they twined the fresh green leaves about the walls. Into the very making of my pudding I threw my heart, and the day became once more a festival; just as truly a festival, I think, as it was when Willie blessed it and made it bright, because I knew he wished to have it so. The older children went with us to church that morning. Harry and Susy, finding the turkeys rather an impediment to religious edi- fication, kept guard at home. Susys little whisper at starting did me good, I think. I praise Thee while my days go en, I love Tisee while my days go on; Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, With emptied arms and treasure lost, I thank Thee while my days go ou. I think that I did thank HimI, who only last year had sat there with my boy beside me so manly and so brave he looked, so pleased that they chose the hymn he loved, so happy and at rest while he sang it with them. I think that when the dear familiar words flooded the church with harmony again, as on that other morning, and John and I clasped hands silentlyI think we uttered the old, old cry, Blessed be the name of the Lord We stopped after church together where the boy was lying, to let May lay down her little green wreath, and I was glad that she could do it calmly. Somehow I felt as if tears would be prof- anation just then. Then we ivent quietly home. It was a happy home that dayas happy as it could be when we did not see him. Yet I know he was there. Did you think I should not be with you, mother ? I heard it over and ovcr; I hear it over and over now; I shall hear it when the next Thanks- giving sun brightens his quiet grave. He wished us to be happy; I know he was with us. I think he will always be. DEATH. O DEATH, the Consecrator! Nothing so sanctifies a name As to be writtendead; Nothing so wins a life from blame, So covers it from wrath and shame, As does the burial-bed. O Death, the Revelator! Our deepest passions never move Till thou hast bid them wake; We know not half how much we love Till all below and all above Is shrouded for our sake. O Death, the great Peace-Maker! If enmity have come between Theres naught like death to heal it; And if we loveO priceless pain, O bitter-sweet when love is vain ! Theres naught like death to seal it.

Caroline Seymour Seymour, Caroline Death 85-86

DEATH. 85 drew me toward him by the frost-bound win- Mamma, youre just like the old mamma dow. I know he stooped and kissed me. I youyou used to was. know he took me in his arms, and said, as he God knows I tried to be. had said before: The little church was very still and pleasant Did you think I should not be with you, that morning, and somehow the service stole mother ? way down into my heart. It was no eloquent And then I missed him. I called to him, preacher that we heard; only a plain man, with but he did not answer. I stretched out my Gods plainest gifts of mind and culture. Many arms after him, but he did not come back to a time I should have preferred my own worship me. The room grew dark; my head swam; I to any to which he could help me. But this tottered over to my husband. morning his heart was very full. I saw that Oh, John! I have lost him! Oh, John! the day was real to him, and I listened. John ! A bit of Mrs. Brownings music kept singing Marywhy, Mary! what is the matter? itself in my soul: and he caught me in his arms. I looked up. I was not in the parlor by the frost-bound window; the children were not be- side me. The sitting-room fire had died down into the ashes; the door into the hall was open, and my husband had on his over-coat. He was holding me tightly in his arms. How you shiver, Mary! Why, my dar- ling, what has happened ? John, wherewhen did you find me ? I have just come in. I heard you cry; you called my name, I think. I know~ I know! I thoughtOh, John! John And then I told him all my dream. When I had finished he was still a long time, then Mary, perhaps the boy has been to you. At this moment the clock on the mantle struck twelve. We listened to its strokes till the last one died away. It is our Thanksgiving morning, said my husband, solemnly. Let us give thanks to God. So we knelt down and prayed together. When the morning really came, with its fresh, frolicking winds, and sunlight, and blue skies; with its merry faces and gay voices, and the happy children rapping at my door, I thought of what he said: Perhaps the boy has been to you. Sometimes I think he must have been, so real and sweet is, even now, the memory of his coming. All that day he stood beside me; all that day I saw his peace- ful face, and felt the blessing of his smile, nnd heard his low, sweet voice. What for months I had looked upon and feared with the bitter- ness of a great dread, the face, and smile, and voice made almost painless. The childrens merry greetings did not hurt me; my fingers did not tremble when they twined the fresh green leaves about the walls. Into the very making of my pudding I threw my heart, and the day became once more a festival; just as truly a festival, I think, as it was when Willie blessed it and made it bright, because I knew he wished to have it so. The older children went with us to church that morning. Harry and Susy, finding the turkeys rather an impediment to religious edi- fication, kept guard at home. Susys little whisper at starting did me good, I think. I praise Thee while my days go en, I love Tisee while my days go on; Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, With emptied arms and treasure lost, I thank Thee while my days go ou. I think that I did thank HimI, who only last year had sat there with my boy beside me so manly and so brave he looked, so pleased that they chose the hymn he loved, so happy and at rest while he sang it with them. I think that when the dear familiar words flooded the church with harmony again, as on that other morning, and John and I clasped hands silentlyI think we uttered the old, old cry, Blessed be the name of the Lord We stopped after church together where the boy was lying, to let May lay down her little green wreath, and I was glad that she could do it calmly. Somehow I felt as if tears would be prof- anation just then. Then we ivent quietly home. It was a happy home that dayas happy as it could be when we did not see him. Yet I know he was there. Did you think I should not be with you, mother ? I heard it over and ovcr; I hear it over and over now; I shall hear it when the next Thanks- giving sun brightens his quiet grave. He wished us to be happy; I know he was with us. I think he will always be. DEATH. O DEATH, the Consecrator! Nothing so sanctifies a name As to be writtendead; Nothing so wins a life from blame, So covers it from wrath and shame, As does the burial-bed. O Death, the Revelator! Our deepest passions never move Till thou hast bid them wake; We know not half how much we love Till all below and all above Is shrouded for our sake. O Death, the great Peace-Maker! If enmity have come between Theres naught like death to heal it; And if we loveO priceless pain, O bitter-sweet when love is vain ! Theres naught like death to seal it. 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. BY CHARLES DICKENS. IN FOUR BOOKS.BOOK THE FOURTH. A TURNING. CHAPTER XII. THE ~AS5ING SHADOW. THE winds and tides rose and fell a certain number of times, the earth moved round the sun a certain number of times, the ship upon the ocean made her voyage safely, and brought a baby-Bella home. Then who so blest and happy as Mrs. John Rokesmith, saving and excepting Mr. John Rokesmith! Would you not like to be rich now, my dar- ling ? How can you ask me such a question, John dear? Am I not rich? These were among the first words spoken near the baby-Bella as she lay asleep. She soon proved to be a baby of wonderful intelligence, evincing the strongest objection to her grand- mothers society, and being invariably seized with a painful acidity of the stomach when that dignified lady honored her with any at- tention. It was charming to see Bella contemplating this baby, and finding out her own dimples in that tiny reflection, as if she were looking in the glass without personal vanity. Her cherubic father justly remarked to her husband that the baby seemed to make her younger than before, reminding him of the days when she had a pet doll and used to talk to it as she carried it about. The world might have been challenged to pro- duce another baby who had such a store of pleas- ant nonsense said and sung to it, as Bella said and sung to this baby; or who was dressed and undressed as often in four-and-twenty hours as Bella dressed and undressed this baby; or who was held behind doors and poked out to stop its fathers way when he came home, as this baby was; or, in a word, who did half the number of baby things, through the lively invention of a gay and proud young mother, that this inex- haustible baby did. The inexhaustible baby was two or three months old when Bella began to notice a cloud upon her husbands brow. Watching it, she saw a gathering and deepening anxiety there, which caused her great disquiet. More than once she awoke him muttering in his sleep; and, though he muttered nothing worse than her own name, it was plain to her that his restlessness originated in some load of care. Therefore, Bella at length put in her claim to divide this load, and bear her half of it. You know, John dear, she said, cheerily reverting to their former conversation, that I hope I may safely be trusted in great things. And it surely can not be a little thing that causes you so much uneasiness. Its very considerate of you to try to hide from me that you are Un- comfortable about something, but its quite im possible to be done, John love. I admit that I am rather uneasy, my own. Then please to tell me what about, Sir. But no, he evaded that. Never mind ! thought Bella, resolutely. John requires me to put perfect faith in him, and he shall not be disappointed. She went up to London one day to meet him, in order that they might make some purchases. She found him waiting for her at her journeys end, and they walked away together through the streets. He was in ~ay spirits, though still harping on that notion of their being rich; and he said, now let them make believe that yonder fine carriage was theirs, and that it was waiting to take them home to a fine house they had: what would Bella, in that case, best like to find in the house? Well! Bella didnt know: al- ready having every thing she wanted, she couldnt say. But by degrees she was led ha to confess that she would like to have for the inexhaustible baby such a nursery as never was seen. It was to be a very rainbow for colors, as she was quite sure baby noticed colors; and the stair- case was to be adorned with the most exquisite flowers, as she was absolutely certain baby no- ticed flowers; and there was to be an aviary some where, of the loveliest little birds, as there was not the smallest doubt in the world that baby noticed birds. Was there nothing else? No, John dear. The predilections of the inex- haustible baby being provided for, Bella could think of nothing else. They were chatting on in this way, and John had suggested, No jewels for your own wear, for instance ? and Bella had replied, laughing. 0! if he caine to that, yes, there might be a beautiful ivory case of je~vels on her dressing- table; when these pictures were in a moment darkened and blotted out. They turned a corner, and met Mr. Light- wood. He stopped as if he ~vere petrified by the sight of Bellas husband, who in the same moment had changed color. Mr. Lightwood and I have met before, he said. Met before, John ? Bella repeated in a tone of wonder. Mr. Lightwood told me he had never seen you.,~ I did not then know that I had, said Light- wood, discomposed on her account. I believed that I had only heard ofMr. Rokesmith. With an emphasis on the name. When Mr. Lightwood saw me, my love, observed her husband, not avoiding his eye, but looking at him, my name was Julius Hand- ford.

Charles Dickens Dickens, Charles Our Mutual Friend 86-113

86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. BY CHARLES DICKENS. IN FOUR BOOKS.BOOK THE FOURTH. A TURNING. CHAPTER XII. THE ~AS5ING SHADOW. THE winds and tides rose and fell a certain number of times, the earth moved round the sun a certain number of times, the ship upon the ocean made her voyage safely, and brought a baby-Bella home. Then who so blest and happy as Mrs. John Rokesmith, saving and excepting Mr. John Rokesmith! Would you not like to be rich now, my dar- ling ? How can you ask me such a question, John dear? Am I not rich? These were among the first words spoken near the baby-Bella as she lay asleep. She soon proved to be a baby of wonderful intelligence, evincing the strongest objection to her grand- mothers society, and being invariably seized with a painful acidity of the stomach when that dignified lady honored her with any at- tention. It was charming to see Bella contemplating this baby, and finding out her own dimples in that tiny reflection, as if she were looking in the glass without personal vanity. Her cherubic father justly remarked to her husband that the baby seemed to make her younger than before, reminding him of the days when she had a pet doll and used to talk to it as she carried it about. The world might have been challenged to pro- duce another baby who had such a store of pleas- ant nonsense said and sung to it, as Bella said and sung to this baby; or who was dressed and undressed as often in four-and-twenty hours as Bella dressed and undressed this baby; or who was held behind doors and poked out to stop its fathers way when he came home, as this baby was; or, in a word, who did half the number of baby things, through the lively invention of a gay and proud young mother, that this inex- haustible baby did. The inexhaustible baby was two or three months old when Bella began to notice a cloud upon her husbands brow. Watching it, she saw a gathering and deepening anxiety there, which caused her great disquiet. More than once she awoke him muttering in his sleep; and, though he muttered nothing worse than her own name, it was plain to her that his restlessness originated in some load of care. Therefore, Bella at length put in her claim to divide this load, and bear her half of it. You know, John dear, she said, cheerily reverting to their former conversation, that I hope I may safely be trusted in great things. And it surely can not be a little thing that causes you so much uneasiness. Its very considerate of you to try to hide from me that you are Un- comfortable about something, but its quite im possible to be done, John love. I admit that I am rather uneasy, my own. Then please to tell me what about, Sir. But no, he evaded that. Never mind ! thought Bella, resolutely. John requires me to put perfect faith in him, and he shall not be disappointed. She went up to London one day to meet him, in order that they might make some purchases. She found him waiting for her at her journeys end, and they walked away together through the streets. He was in ~ay spirits, though still harping on that notion of their being rich; and he said, now let them make believe that yonder fine carriage was theirs, and that it was waiting to take them home to a fine house they had: what would Bella, in that case, best like to find in the house? Well! Bella didnt know: al- ready having every thing she wanted, she couldnt say. But by degrees she was led ha to confess that she would like to have for the inexhaustible baby such a nursery as never was seen. It was to be a very rainbow for colors, as she was quite sure baby noticed colors; and the stair- case was to be adorned with the most exquisite flowers, as she was absolutely certain baby no- ticed flowers; and there was to be an aviary some where, of the loveliest little birds, as there was not the smallest doubt in the world that baby noticed birds. Was there nothing else? No, John dear. The predilections of the inex- haustible baby being provided for, Bella could think of nothing else. They were chatting on in this way, and John had suggested, No jewels for your own wear, for instance ? and Bella had replied, laughing. 0! if he caine to that, yes, there might be a beautiful ivory case of je~vels on her dressing- table; when these pictures were in a moment darkened and blotted out. They turned a corner, and met Mr. Light- wood. He stopped as if he ~vere petrified by the sight of Bellas husband, who in the same moment had changed color. Mr. Lightwood and I have met before, he said. Met before, John ? Bella repeated in a tone of wonder. Mr. Lightwood told me he had never seen you.,~ I did not then know that I had, said Light- wood, discomposed on her account. I believed that I had only heard ofMr. Rokesmith. With an emphasis on the name. When Mr. Lightwood saw me, my love, observed her husband, not avoiding his eye, but looking at him, my name was Julius Hand- ford. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 87 Julius llandford! The name that Bella had No, John love. I should dearly like to so often seen in old newspapers, when she was know, of course (which her anxious face con- an inmate of Mr. Boflins house! Julius Hand- firmed); hut I wait until you can tell me of ford, who had been publicly entreated to appear, your own free~wi4. You asked me if I could and for intelligence of whom a reward had been have perfect faith in you, and I said yes, and I publicly offered! meant it. I would have avoided mentioning it in your It did ~ot escape Bellas notice that he began presence, said Lightwood to Bella, delicately; to look triumphant. She wanted no strength- but since your husband mentions it himself, eniug in her firmness; but if she had had need I must confirm his strange admission. I saw of any, she would have derived it from his kin- him as Mr. JuYius lian3Sora, ana I aiterward iXYrng Lace. (unquestionably to his knowledge) took great You can not have been prepared, my dear- pains to trace him out. est, for such a discovery as that this mysterious Quite true. But it was not my object or my Mr. Handford was identical with your hus- interest, said Rokesmith, quietly, to be traced band ? out. No, John dear, of course not. But you Bella looked from the one to the other in told me to prepare to be tried, and I prepared amazement. myself. Mr. Lightwood, pursued her husband, as He drew her to nestle closer to him, and told chance has brought us face to face at lastwhich her it would soon be over and the truth would is not to be wondered at, for the wonder is, that, soon appear. And now, he went on, lay in spite of all my pains to the contrary, chance has stress, my dear, on these ~vords that I am going not confronted us together soonerI have only to to add. I stand in no kind of peril, and I can remind you that you have been at my house, and by possibility be hurt at no ones hand. to add that I have not changed my residence. You are qi~ite, quite sure of that, John Sir, returned Lightwood, with a meaning dear ? glance toward Bella, my position is a truly Not a hair of my head! Moreover, I have painful one. I hope that no complicity in a done no wrong, and have injured no man. Shall very dark transaction may attach to you; but I swear it ? you can not fail to know that your own extraor- No, John ! cried Bella, laying her hand dinary conduct has laid you under suspicion. npon his lips with a proud look. Never to I know it has, was all the reply. me! My professional duty, said Lightwood, hes- But circumstances, he went on I can, itating, with another glance toward Bella, is and I will, disperse them in a momenthave greatly at variance with my personal inclination; surrounded me with one of the strangest sus- but I doubt, Mr. Handford, or Mr. Rokesmith, picions ever known. You heard Mr. Lightwood whether I am justified in taking leave of you speak of a dark transaction I here, with your whole course unexplained. Yes, John. Belia caught her husband by the band. You are prepared to hear explicitly what he Dont be alarmed, my darling. Mr. Light- meant ? wood will find that he is quite justified in taking Yes, John. leave of me here. At all events, added Roke- My life, he meant the murder of John Har- smith, he will find that I mean to take leave mon, your allotted husband. of him here. With a fast palpitating heart Bella grasped I think, Sir, said Lightwood, you can him by the arm. ~You can not be suspected, scarcely deny that when I came to your house John ? on the occasion to which you have referred you Dear love, I can befor I am avoided me of a set purpose. There was silence between them as she sat Mr. Lightwood, I assure you I have no dis- looking in his face, with the color quite gone position to deny it, or intention to deny it. I from her own face and lips. How dare they ! should have continued to avoid you, in pursa- she cried at length, in a burst of generous in- ance of the same set purpose, for a short time dignation. My beloved husband, how dare longer, if we had not met now. I am going they ! straight home, and shall remain at home to- He caught her in his arms as she opened hers, morrow until noon. Ilereafter I hope we may and held her to his heart. Even knowing be better acquainted. Good-day. this, you can trust me, Bella ? Lightwood stood irresolute, but Bellas hus- I can trust you, John dear, with all my soul. band passed him in the steadiest manner, with If I could not trust you, I should fall dead at Bella on his arm; and they went home without your feet. encountering any further remonstrance or ruol- The kindling triumph in his face was bright estation from any one. indeed as he looked up and rapturously exclaim- When they had dined and were alone, John ed, what had he done ~o deserve the blessing of Rokesmith said to his wife, who had preserved this dear, confiding creatures heart! Again she her cheerfulness: And you dont ask me, my put her band upon his lips, saying, Hush ! dear, why I bore that name ? and then told him, in her own little, natural, 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pathetic way, that if all the world were against him she would be for him; that if all the world repudiated him she would believe him; that if he were infamous in other eyes he ~vould be honored in hers; and that, under the worst un- merited suspicion, she would devote her life to consoling him, and imparting her own faith in him to their little child. A twilight calm of happiness then succeeding to their radinnt noon, they remained at peace until a strange voice in the room startled them both. The room being by that time dark, the voice said, Dont let the lady he alarmed by my striking a light, and immediately a match rattled and glimmered in a hand. The hand and the match and the voice were then seen John Rokesmith to belong to Mr. Inspector, once meditatively active in this chronicle. I take the liberty, said Mr. Inspector, in a business-like manner, to bring myself to the recollection of Mr. Julius Handford, who gave me his name and addres~ down at our place a considerable time ago. Would the lady object to my lighting the pair of candles on the chimn- ney-piece, to throw a further light upon the sub.. ject? No? Thank you, maam. Now we look cheerful Mr. Inspector, in n dark-blue buttoned-np frock-coat and pantaloons, presented a servicea- ble, half-pay, Royal Arms kind of appearance, as he applied his pocket-handkerchief to his nose and bowed to the lady. You favored me, Mr. Handford, said Mr. Inspector, by writing down your name and address, and I prodnee the piece of paper on which you wrote it. Comparing the same with the writing on the fly-leaf of this book on the tableand a sweet pretty volume it isI find the writing of the entry, Mrs. John Rokesmith. From her husband on her birthdayand very gratifying to the feelings such memorials, are to correspond exactly. Can I have a word with you? Certainly. Here, if you please, was the reply. Why, retorted Mr. Inspector; again using his pocket handkerchief, though theres no- thing for the lady to be at all alarmed at, still, ladies are apt to take alarm at matters of busi- nessbeing of that fragile sex that theyre not accustomed to them when not of a strictly do- mestic characterand I do generally~mnake it a rule to propose retirement from the presence of ladies, before entering upon business topics. Or perhaps, Mr. Inspector hinted, if the lady was to step up stairs, and take a look at baby now Mrs. Rokesmith, her husband was begin- ning; when Mr. Inspector, regarding the words as an introduction, said, Happy, I am sure, to have the honor. And bowed, with gallantry. Mrs. Rokesmith, resumed her husband, is satisfied that she can have no reason for being alarmed, ~vhatever the business is. Really? Is that so ? said Mr. Inspector. But its a sex to live and learn from, and theres nothing a lady cant accomplish when she once fully gives her mind to it. Its the case with my own wife. Well, maam, this good gentleman of yours has given rise to a rather large amount of trouble which might have been avoided if he had come forward and explained himself. Well you see! He didnt come for~ ward and explain himself. Consequently, now that we meet, him and me, youll sayand say rightthat theres nothing to be alarmed at, in my proposing to him to come forwardor, put- ting the same meaning in another form, to come along with meand explain himself. When Mr. Inspector put it in that other form, to come along with me, there was a relishing roll in his voice, and his eye beamed with an official lustre. Do you propose to take me into custody ? inquired John Rokesmith, very coolly. Why argue ? returned Mr. Inspector in a comfortable sort of remonstrance; aint it enough that I propose that you shall come along with me? For what reason ? Lord bless my soul and body ! returned Mr. Inspector, I wonder at it in a man of your education. Why argue ? What do you charge against me ? I ~vonder at you before a lady, said Mr. Inspector, shaking his head reproachfully: I wonder, brought up as you have been, you havent a more delicate mind! I charge you, then, with being some way concerned in the Harmon Murder. I dont say whether before, or in, or after, the fact. I dont say whether with having some knowledge of it that hasnt come out. You dont surprise me. I foresaw your visit this afternoon. Dont! said Mr. Inspector. Why, why argue? Its my duty to inform you that what- ever you say will be used against you. I dont think it will. But I tell you it will, said Mr. Inspector. Now, having received the caution, do you still say that you foresaw my visit this afternoon ? Yes. And I ~vill say something more, if you will step with me into the next room. With a reassuring kiss on the lips of the fright- ened Bella, her husband (to whom Mr. Inspector obligingly offered his arm) took up a candle and withdrew with that gentleman. They were a full half-hour in conference. When they re- turned Mr. Inspector looked considerably aston- ished. I have invited this worthy officer, my dear, said John, to make a short excursion with me in which you shall be a sharer. He will take something to eat and drink, I dare say, on your invitation, while you are getting your bonnet en. Mr. Inspector declined eating, but assented to the proposal of a glass of brandy and water. Mixing this cold, and pensively consuming it, he broke at intervals into such soliloquies as that OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 89 he never did know such a move, that he never ors before the fire, and communed in a low voice had been so graveled, and that what a game was with a brother of his order (also of a half-pay this to try the sort of stuff a mans opinion of and Royal Arms aspect), who, judged only by himself was made of! Concurrently with these his occupation at the moment, might have been comments, he more than once burst out a laugh- a writing-master, setting copies. Their confer- ing, with the half-enjoying and half-piqued air ence done, Mr. Inspector returned to the fire- of a man who had given up a good conundrum, place, and, having observed that he would step after much guessing, and been told the answer, round to the Fellowships and see how matters Bella was so timid of him, that she noted these stood, ~vent out. He soon came back again, things in a half-shrinking, half-perceptive way, saying, Nothing could be better, for theyre at and similarly noted that there was a great change supper with Miss Abbey in the bar; and then in his manner toward John. That coming-along- they all three went out together. with-him deportment was now lost in long inns- Still, as in a dream, Bella found herself cu- ing looks at John and at herself, and sometimes tering a snug old-fashioned public house, and in slow heavy rubs of his hand across his fore- found herself smuggled into a little three-cor- head, as if he were ironing out the creases which nered room nearly opposite the bar of that es- his deep pondering made there. He had had tablishment. Mr. Inspector achieved the smug- some coughing and whistling satellites secretly gling of herself and John into this queer room, gravitating toward him about the premises, but called Cozy in an inscription on the door, by they were now dismissed, and he eyed John as entering in the narrow passage first in order, if he had meant to do him a public service, but and suddenly turning round upon them with had unfortunatbly been anticipated. Whether extended arms, as if they had been two sheep. Bella might have noted any thing more, if she The room was lighted for their reception. had been less afraid of him, she could not de- Now, said Mr. Inspector to John, turning termine; but it was all inexplicable to her, and the gas lower; Ill mix with em in a casual not the faintest flash of the real state of the case way, and when I say Identification, perhaps broke in upon her mind. Mr. Inspectors in- youll show yourself. creased notice of hersclf and knowing way of John nodded, and Mr. Inspector went alone raising his eyebrows when their eyes by any to the half-door of the bar. From the dim door- chance met, as if he put the question Dont way of Cozy, within which Bella and her bus- you see ? augmented her timidity, and, conse- band stood, they could see a comfortable little quently, her perplexity. For all these reasons, party of three persons sitting at supper in the when he and she and John, at toward nine bar, and could hear every thing that was said. o clock of a winter evening, went to London, and The three persons were Miss Abbey and two began driving from London Bridge, among low- male guests. To whom collectively Mr. In- lying water-side wharves and docks and strange spector remarked that the weather was getting places, Bella was in the state of a dreamer; per- sharp for the tinie of year. fectly unable to account for her being there, per- It need be sharp to suit your wits, Sir, feetly unable to forecast what would happen said Miss Abbey. What have you got in next, or ~vhither she was going, or why; certain hand now ? of nothing in the immediate present, but that Thanking you for your compliment: not she confided in John, and that John seemed much, Miss Abbey, was Mr. Inspectors rejoin- somehow to be getting more triumphant. But der. what a certainty was that! Who have you got in Cozy ? asked Miss They alighted at last at the corner of a court, Abbey. where there was a building with a bright lamp Only a gentleman and his wife, Miss. and a wicket gate. Its orderly appearanc~ was And who are they? If one may ask it with- very unlike that of the surrounding neighbor- out detriment to your deep plans in trie interests hood, and was explained by the inscription Po- of the honest public ? said Miss Abbey, proud LICE STATION. of Mr. Inspector as an administrative genius. We are not going in here, John ? said They are strangers in this part of the town, Bella, clinging to him. Miss Abbey. They are waiting till I shall want Yes, my dear; but of our own accord. We the gentleman to show himself somewhere, for shall come out again as easily, never fear. half a moment. The whitewashed room was pure white as of While theyre waiting, said Miss Abbey, old, the methodical book-keeping was in peace- couldnt you join us ? ful progress as of old, and some distant howler Mr. Inspector immediately slipped into the was banging against a cell door as of old. The bar, and sat down at the tide of the half-door, sanctuary was not a permanent abiding-place; with his back toward the passage, and directly but a kind of criminal Pickfords. The lower facing the two guests. I dont take my sup- passions and vices were regularly ticked off in per till later in the night, said he, and there- the books, warehoused in the cells, carted away fore I wont disturb the compactness of the ta- as per accompanying invoice, and left no mark ble. But Ill take a glass of flip, if thats flip in upon it. the jug in the fender. Mr. Inspector placed two chairs for his visit- Thats flip, replied Miss Abbey, and its 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. my making, and if even you can find out better I shall be glad to know ~vhere. Filling him, with hospitable hands, a steaming tumbler, Miss Abbey replaced the jug by the fire; the com- pany not having yet arrived at the flip stage of their supper, but being as yet skirmishing with strong ale. Ahh ! cried Mr. Inspector. Thats the smack! Theres not a Detective in the Force, Miss Abbey, that could find out better stuff than that. Glad to hear you say so, rejoined Miss Ab- bey. You ought to know, if any body does. Mr. Job Potterson, Mr. Inspector contin- ned, I drink your health. Mr. Jacob Kibble, I drink yours. Hope yon have made a prosper- ous voyage home, gentlemen both. Mr. Kibble, an unctuous broad man of few words and many moutlifuls, said, more ~briefly than pointedly, raising his ale to his lips: Same to you. Mr. Job Potterson, a semi-seafaring man of obliging demeanor, said, Thank you, Sir. Lord bless my soul and body ! cried Mr. Inspector. Talk of trades, Miss Abbey, and the way they set their marks on men (a subject which nobody had approached); who wouldnt know your brother to be a Steward! Theres a bright and ready twinkle in his eye, theres a neatness in his action, theres a smartness in his figure, theres an air of reliability about him in ease you wanted a basin, which points out the steward! And Mr. Kibble; aint he Passenger, all over? While theres that mercantile cut upon him which would make you happy to give him credit for five hundred pound, dont you see the salt sea shirking on him too ? You do, I dare say, returned Miss Abbey, but I dont. And as for stewarding, I think its time my brother gave that up, and took this House in hand on his sisters retiring. The house will go to pieces if he dont. I ~vouldnt sell it for any money that could be told out, to a person that I couldnt depend upon to be a Law to the Porters, as I have been. There youre right, Miss, said Mr. Inspect- or. A better kept house is not known to our men. What do I say? Half so well a kept house is not known to our men. Show the Force the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, and the Force to a constablewill show you a piece of per- fection, Mr. Kibble. That gentleman, with a very serious shake of his head, subscribed the article. And talk of Time slipping by yon, as if it was an animal at rustic sports with its tail soaped, said Mr. Inspector (again, a subject which nobody had approached); why, well you may. Well you may. How has it slipped by us, since the time when Mr. Job Potterson here present, Mr. Jacob Kibble here present, and an Officer of the Force here present, first came together on a matter of Identification ! Bellas husband stepped softly to the half-door of the bar, and stood there. lIow has Time slipped by us, Mr. Inspect- or went on, slowly, with his eyes narrowly ob- servant of the two guests, since we three very men, at an Inquest in this very houseMr. Kib- ble? Taken ill, Sir ? Mr. Kibble had staggered up, with his lower .jaw dropped, catching Potterson by the shoul- der, and pointing to the half-door. He now cried out: Potterson! Look! Look there !, Potterson started up, started back, and exclaim- ed: Heaven defend us, whats that ! Bellas husband stepped back to Bella, took her in his arms (for she was terrified by the unintelligible terror of the two men), and shut the door of the little room. A hurry of voices succeeded, in which Mr. Inspectors voice was busiest; it grad- ually slackened and sank; and Mr. Inspector re- appeared. Sharps the word, Sir ! he said, looking in with a knowing wink. Well get your lady out at once. Immediately Bella and her husband were under the stars, making their way back alone to the vehicle tfiey had kept in waiting. All this was most extraordinary, and Bella could make nothing of it but that John was in the right. How in the right, and how suspect- ed of being in the wrong, she could not divine. Some vague idea that he had never really as- sumed the name of Handford, and that there was a remarkable likeness between him and that mysterious person, was her nearest approach to any definite explanation. But John was tri- umphant; that much was made apparent; and she could wait for the rest. When John came home to dinner next day he said, sitting down on the sofa by Bella and baby-Bella: My dear, I have a piece of news to tell you. I have left the China House. As he seemed to like having left it, Bella took it for granted that there was no misfortune in the case. In a word, my love, said John, the China House is broken up and abolished. There is no such thing any more. Then are you already in another House, John I Yes, my darling. I am in another way of business. And I am rather better off. The inexhaustible baby was instantly made to congratulate him, and to say, with appropriate action on the part of a very limp arm and a speckled fist: Three cheers, ladies and gem- plemorams. Hooray ! I am afraid, my life, said John, that you have become very much attached to this cOt- tage ? Afraid I have, John ? Of course I have. The reason why I said afraid, returned John, is, because we must move. 0 John ! Yes, my dear, we must move. We must have our head-quarters in London ilow. In short, theres a dwelling-house rent-flee, attached to my new position, and we must occupy it. Thats a gain, John. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 91 Yes, my dear, it is undoubtedly a gain. He gave her a very blithe look, and a very sly look. Which occasioned the inexhaustible baby to square at him with the speckled fists, and demand in a threatening manner what he meant? My love, you said it was a gain, and I said it was a gain. A very innocent remark, surely. said the inexhaustible baby, al- I lowyouto makegameofmyvenera- bleMa. At each division administering a soft facer with one of the speckled fists. John having stooped down to receive these punishing visitations, Bela asked him, would it be necessary to move soon? Why yes, indeed (said John), he did propose that they should move very soon. Taking the furniture with them, of course (said Bella)? Why, no (said John), the fact was, that the house wasin a sort of a kind of a wayfurnished already. The inexhaustible baby, hearing this, resumed the offensive, and said: But theres no nursery for me, Sir. What do you mean, marble-heart- ed parent ? To which the marble-hearted pa- rent rejoined that there was asort of a kind of anursery, and it might be made to do. Made to do ? returned the Inexhaustible, ad- ministering more punishment; what do you take me for ? And was then turned over on its back in Bellas lap, and smothered with kisses. But really, John dear, said Bella, flushed in quite a lovely manner by these exercises, will the new house, just as it stands, do for baby? Thats the question. I felt that to be the question, he returned, and therefore I arranged that you should come with me and look at it to-morrow morning. Appointment made, accordingly, for Bella to go up with him to-morrow morning; John kissed; and Bella delighted. When they reached London in pursuance of their little plan they took coach and drove west- ward. Not only drove westward, but drove into that particular westward division which Bella had seen last when she turned her face from Mr. Boffins door. Not only drove into that particular division, but drove at last into that very street. Not only drove into that very street, but stopped at last at that very house. John dear! cried ~3ella, looking out of window in a flutter. Do you see where we are ? Yes, my love. The coachmans quite right. The house-door was opened without any knocking or ringing, and John promptly helped her out. The servant who stood holding the door asked no question of John, neither did he go before them or follow them as they went straight up stairs. It was only her husbands encircling arm, urging her on, that preitented Bella from stopping at the foot of the staircase. As they ascended, it was seen to be tastefully ornamented with most beautiful flowers. 0 John 1 said Bella, faintly. What does this mean Nothing, my darling, nothing. Let us go on. Going on a little higher, they came to a charm- ing aviary, in which a number of tropical birds, more gorgeous in color than the flowers, were flying about; and among those birds were gold and silver fish, and mosses, and water-lilies, and a fountain, and all manner of wonders. 0 my dear John ! said Bella. What does this mean ? Nothing, my darling, nothing. Let us go on. They went on, until they came to a door. As John put out his hand to open it, Bella caught his hand. I dont know what it means, but its too much for me. Hold me, John, love. John caught her up in his arm, and lightly dashed into the room with her. Behold Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, beaming! Be- hold Mrs. Boffin clapping her hands in an ecsta- sy, running to Bella ~vith tears of joy pouring down her comely face, and folding her to her comfortable breast, with the words: My deary deary, deary girl, that Noddy and me saw mar- ried and couldnt wish joy to, or so much as speak to! My deary, deary, deary, wife of John and mother of his little child! My loving loving, bright bright, Pretty Pretty! Welcome to your house and home, my deary ! CHAPTER XIII. SHOWING HOW THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN HELPED TO SCATTER DUST. IN all the first bewilderment of her wonder, the most bewilderingly wonderful thing to Bella was the shining countenance of Mr. Boffin. That his wife should be joyous, open-hearted, and genial, or that her face should express every quality that was large and trusting, and no quali- ty that was little or mean, was accordant with Bellas experience. But that he, with a perfect- ly beneficent air and a plump rosy face, should be standing there, looking at her and John, like some jovial good spirit, was marvelous. For, how had he looked when she last saw him in that very room (it was the room in which she had given him that piece of her mind at parting), and what had become of all those crooked lines of suspicion, avarice, and distrust, that twisted his visage then? Mrs. Boffin seated Bella on the large ottoman, and seated herself beside her, and John her hus- band seated himself on the other side of her, and Mr. Boffin stood beaming at every one and every thing he could see, with surpassing jollity and enjoyment. Mrs. Boffin was then taken with a laughing fit of clapping her hands, art1l clapping her knees, and rocking herself to and fro, and then with another laughing fit of embracing Bel 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Ia, and rocking her to and froboth fits of con- Boffin, breaking off ia the rush of her speech to siderable duration. smile most radiantly, might you think by this Old lady, old lady, said Mr. Boffin, at time that your husbands name was, dear ? length; ifyou dont begin somebody else must. Not, returned Bella, with quivering lips; Im agoing to begin, Noddy, my dear, re- not Harmon? Thats not possible ? turned Mrs. Boffin. Only it isnt easy for a Dont tremble. Why not possible, deary, person to know where to begin, when a person is when so many things are possible ? demanded in this state of delight and happiness. Bella, my Mr~. Boffin, in a soothing tone. dear. Tell me, whos this ? lie was killed, gasped Bella. Who is this? repeated Bella. My hus- Thought to be, said Mrs. Boffin. But band. if ever John Harmon drew the breath of life on Ah! But tell me his name, deary ! cried earth, that is certainly John Harmons arm Mrs. Boffin. round your waist now, my pretty. If ever John Rokesmith. Harmon had a wife on earth, that wife is cer- No, it aint ! cried Mrs. Boffin, clapping tainly you. If ever John Harmon and his wife her hands, and shaking her head. Not a bit had a child on earth, that child is certainly this. of it. By a master-stroke of secret arrangement the Handford then, suggested Bella. inexhaustible baby here appeared at the door, No, it aint ! cried Mrs. Boffin, again clap- suspended in mid-air by invisible agency. Mrs. ping her hands and shaking her head. Not a Boflin, plunging at it, brought it to Bellas lap, bit of it. where both Mrs. and Mr. Boffin (as the say- At least his name is John, I suppose ? said ing is) took it out of the Inexhaustible in Bella. a shower of caresses. It was only this timely Ah! I should think so, deary ! cried Mrs. appearance that kept Bella from swooning. Boffin. I should hope.so! Many and many This, and her husbands earnestness in explain- is the time I have called him by his name of ing further to her how it had come to pass that John. But whats his other name, his true other he had been supposed to be slain, and had even name? Give a guess, my pretty ! been suspected of his own murder; also, how I cant guess, said Bella, turning her pale he had put a pious fraud upon her which had face from one to another, preyed upon his mind, as the time for its dis- I could, cried Mrs. Boffin, and whats closure approached, lest she might not make more, I did! I found him out, all in a flash as full allowance for the object with which it had I may say, one night. Didnt I, Noddy ? originated, and in which it had fully developed. Ay! That the old lady did ! said Mr. Bof- But bless ye, my beanty ! cried Mrs. Bofila, fin, with stout pride in the circumstance. taking him up short at this point, with another ilarkee to me, deary, pursued Mrs. Boffin, hearty clap of her hands. It wasnt John only taking Bellas hands between her own, and gen- that was in it. We was all of us in it. tly heating on them from time to time. It was I dont, said Bella, looking vacantly from after a particular night when John had been dis- one to another, yet understand appointedas he thoughtin his affections. It Of course you dont, my deary, exclaimed was after a night when John had made an offer Mrs. Boffin. How can you till youre told! to a certain young lady, and the certain young So now I am agoing to tell you. So you put lady had refused it. It was after a particular your two hands between my two hands again, night, when he felt himself cast-away-like, and cried the comfortable creature, em bracing her, had made up his mind to go seek his fortune. It with that blessed little picter lying on your was the very next night. My Noddy wanted a lap, and you shall be told all the story. Now, paper out of his Secretarys room, and I says to Im agoing to tell the story. Once, twice, three Noddy, I am going by the door, and Ill ask times, and the horses is off. Here they go! him for it. I tapped at his door, and he didnt When I cries out that night, I know you now, hear me. I looked in, and saw him a sitting youre John !which was my exact words; lonely by his fire, brooding over it. He chanced wasnt they, John ? to look up with a pleased kind of smile in my Your exact words, said John, laying his company when he saw me, and then in a single hand on hers. moment every grain of the gunpowder that had Thats a very good arrangement, cried Mrs. been lying sprinkled thick about him ever since Boffin. Keep it there, John. And as we was I first set eyes upon him as a man at the Bower, all of us in it, Noddy you come and lay yours a took fire! Too many a time had I seen him sit- top of his, and we wont break the pile till the ting lonely, when he was a poor child, to be storys done. pitied, heart and hand! Too many a time had Mr. Boflin hitched up a chair and added his I seen him in need of being brightened up with broad brown right hand to the heap. a comforting word! Too many and too many Thats capital ! said Mrs. Boffin, giving it a time to be mistaken, when that glimpse of him a kiss. Seems quite a family building; dont come at last! No, no! I just makes out to cry, it? But the horses is off. Well! When I cries I know you now! Youre John! And he out that night, I know you now! youre John! catches me as I drops.So what, said Mrs. John catches of me, it is true; but I aint a light OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 93 weight, bless ye, and hes forced to let me down. Noddy, he hears a noise, and in he trots, and as soon as I anyways comes to myself I calls to him, Noddy, well I might say as I did say, that night at the Bower, for the Lord be thankful this is Joha! Ga which he gives a heave, and down he goes likewise, with his head under the writ- ing-table. Tilis brings me round comfortable, and that brings him round comfortable, and then John and him aad me we all fall a crying for joy. Yes! They cry for joy, my darling, her husband struck in. You understand? These two, whom I come to life to disappoint and dis- possess, cry for joy ! Bella looked at him confusedly, and looked again at Mrs. Boffias radiant face. Thats right, my dear, dont you mind him, said Mrs. Boffin, stick to me. Well! Then we sits down, gradually gets cool, and holds a confabulation. John, he tells us how he is de- spairing in his mind on accounts of a certain fair young person, and how, if I hadnt found him out, he was going away to seek his fortune far and wide, and had fully meant never to come to life, but to leave the property as our wrongful inheritance forever and a day. At which you never see a man so frightened as my Noddy was. For to think that he should have come into the property wrongful, however innocent, andmore than thatmighf have gone on keeping it to his dying day, turned him ~vhiter than chalk. And you too, said Mr. Boffin. Dont you mind him, neither, my deary, re- sumed Mrs. Boffia; stick to me. This brings lip a confabulation regarding the certain fair young person; when Noddy he gives it as his opinion that she is a deary creetur. She may he a leetle spoilt, and natrally spoilt, he says, by circumstances, but thats only on the sur- face, and I lay my life, he says, that shes the true golden gold at heart. So did you, said Mr. Boffin. Dont you mind him a single morsel, my dear, proceeded Mrs. Boffin, but stick to me. Then says John, 0, if he could but prove so! Then we both of us ups and says, that minute, Prove so! With a start Bella directed a hurried glance toward Mr. Boffin. But he was sitting thought- fully smiling at that broad brown hand of his, and either didut see it, or would take no notice of it. Prove it, John! we says, repeated Mrs. Boffin. Prove it and overcome your doubts with triumph, and be happy for the first time in your life, and for the rest of your life. This puts John in a state, to be sure. Then we says, What will content you? If she was to stand up for you when you was slighted, if she was to show herself of a generous mind when you was oppressed, if she was to be truest to you when you was poorest and friendliest, and all this against her own seeming interest, how would that do? Do? says John, it would raise me to the skies. Then, says my Noddy, make your preparations for the ascent, John, it being my firm belief that up you go! Bella caught Mr. Boffins twinkling eye for half an instant; but he got it away from her and restored it to his broad brown hand. From the first you was always a special fa- vorite of Noddys, said Mrs. Boffin, shaking her head. 0 you were! And if I had been inclined to be jealous, I dont know what I mightnt have done to you. But as I wasnt why, my beauty, with a hearty laugh and an embrace, I made you a special favorite of my own too. But the horses is coming round the corner. Well! Thea says my Noddy, shaking his sides till he was fit to make em ache again: Look out for being slighted and oppressed, John, for if ever a man had a hard master you ~hall find me from this present time to be such to you. And then he began ! cried Mrs. Bof- fin, in an ecstasy of admiration. Lord bless you, then he began! And how he did begin; didnt he! Bella looked half frightened, and yet half laughed. But, bless you, pursued Mrs. Boffin, if you could have seen him of a night, at that time of it! The way hed sit and chuckle over him- self! The way hed say Ive been a regular brown bear to-day, and take himself in his arms and hug himself at the thoughts of the brute he had pretended! But every night he says to me: Better and better, old lady. What did we say of her? Shell come through it, the true golden gold. Thisll be the happiest piece of work we ever done. And then hed say, Ill be a griz- zlier old growler to-morrow! and laugh, he would, till John and me was often forced to slap his back, and bring it out of his windpipes with a little water. Mr. Boffin, with his face bent over his heavy hand, made no sound, but rolled his shoulders when thus referred to as if he were vastly enjoy- ing himself. And so, my good and pretty, pursued Mrs. Boffin, you was married, and there ~vas we hid up in the church-organ by this husband of yours; for he wouldnt let us out with it then, as was first mettut. No, he says, shes so unselfish and contented that I cant afford to be rich yet. I must wait a little longer. Then, when baby was expected, he says, She is such a cheerful, glorious housewife that I cant afford to be rich yet. I must wait a little longer. Then, when baby was born, he says, She is so much better than she ever was that I cant afford to be rich yet. I must wait a little longer. And so he goes on and on, till I says outright, Now, John, if you dont fix a time for setting her up in her own house and home, and letting us walk out of it, Ill turn Informer. Then he says hell only wait to triumph beyond what we ever thought possible, and to show her to us better than even we ever supposed; and he says, She shall see me under suspicion of having murdered 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. myself, and you shall see how trusting and how true shell be. Well! Noddy and me agreed to that, and he was right, and here you are, and the horses is in, and the story is done, and God bless you my Beauty, and God bless ns all ! The pile of hands dispersed, and Bella and Mrs. Boffin took a good long hug of one another: to the apparent peril of the inexhaustible baby, lying staring in Bellas lap. But is the story done ? said Bella, ponder- ing. Is there no more of it ? What more of it should there be, deary ? returned Mrs. Boffin, full of glee. Are you sure you have left nothing out of it ? asked Bella. I dont think I have, said Mrs. Boffin, archly. John dear, said Bella, youre a good nurse; will you please hGld baby ? Having deposited the Inexhaustible in his arms with those words, Bella looked hard at Mr. Boffin, who had moved to a table where he was leaning his head upon his hand with his face turned away, and, quietly settling herself on her knees at his side, and drawing one arm over his shoul- der, said: Please, I beg your pardon, and I made a small mistake of a word when I took leave of you last. Please I think you are better (not worse) than Hopkins, better (not worse) than Dancer, better (not worse) than Black- berry Jones, better (not worse) than any of them! Please something more 1 cried Bella, with an exultant ringing laugh as she struggled with him and forced him to turn his delighted face to hers. Please I have found out some- thing not yet mentioned. Please I dont believe you are a hard-hearted miser at all, and please I dont believe you ever for one single minute were At this Mrs. Boffin fairly screamed with rap- ture, and sat beating her feet upon the floor, clapping her hands, and bobbing herself back- ward and forward like a demented member of some Mandarins family. 0, I understand you now, Sir ! cried Bella. I want neither you nor any one else to tell me the rest of the story. I can tell it to you, now, if you would like to hear it. Can you, my dear ? said Mr. Boffin. Tell it then. What ? cried Bella, holding him prisoner by the coat with both hands. When you saw what a greedy little wretch you were the patron of, you dctermined to show her how much mis- used and misprized richcs could do, and often had done, to spoil people; did you? Not car- ing what she thought of you (and Goodness knows that was of no consequence!) you showed her, in yourself, the most detestable sides of wealth, saying in your own mind, This shallow creature would never work the truth out of her own weak soul, if she had a hundred years to do it in; but a glaring instance kept before her may open even her eyes and set her thinking. That was what you said to yourself; was it, Sir ? I never said any thing of the sort, Mr. Boffin declared, in a state of the highest enjoy- ment. Then you ought to have said it, Sir, re- turned Bella, giving him two pulls and one kiss, for you must have thought and meant it. You saw that good fortune was turning my stupid head and hardening my silly heartwas making me grasping, calculating, insolent, insufferable and you took the pains to be the dearest and kindest finger-post that evcr was set up any where, pointing out the road that I was taking and the end it led to. Confess instantly ! John, said Mr. Boffin, one broad piece of sunshine from head to foot, I wish youd help me out of this. You cant be heard by counsel,Sir re- turned Bella. You must speak for yourself. Confess instantly ! Well, my dear, said Mr. Boffin, the truth is, that when we did go in for the little scheme that my old lady has pinted out, I did put it to John, what did he think of going in for some such general scheme as you have pinted out? But I didnt in any way so word it, because I didnt in any way so mean it. I only said to John, ~vouldnt it be more consistent, me going in for being a rcglar brown bear respecting him, to go in as a reglar brown bear all round ? Confess this minute, Sir, said Bella, that you did it to correct and amei~d me Certainly, my dear child, said Mr. Boffin, I didnt do it to harm you; you may be sure of that. And I did hope it might just hint a caution. Still, it ought to be mentioned that no sooner had my old lady found out John, than John made known to her and me that he had had his eye upon a thankless person by the name of Silas Wegg. Partly for the punishment of which Wegg, by leading him on in a very un- handsome and underhanded game that he was playing, them books that you and me bought so many of together (and, by-the-by, my dear, he wasnt Blackberry Jones, but Blewberry) was read aloud to me by that person of the name of Silas Wegg aforesaid. Bella, who was still on her knees at Mr. Bof- fins feet, gradually sank down into a sitting pos- ture on the ground, as she meditated more and more thoughtfully, with her eyes upon his beam- ing face. Still, said Bella, after this meditative pause, there remain two things that I can not under- stand. Mrs. Boffin never supposed any part of the change in Mr. Boffin to be real; did she ? You never did; did you ? asked Bella, turning to her. No ! returned Mrs. Boffin, with a most ro- tund and glowing negative. And yet you took it very much to heart, said Bella, I remember its making you very uneasy indeed. Ecod, you see Mrs. John has a sharp eye, John ! cried Mr. Boffin, shaking his head with an admiring air. Youre right, my dear. The OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 95 01(1 lady nearly blowed us into shivers and smith- ers, many times. Why ? asked Bella. How did that hap- pen, when she was in your secret ? Why, it was a weakness in the old lady, said Mr. Boffin; and yet, to tell you the whole truth and nothing hut the truth, Im rather proud of it. My dear, the old lady thinks so high of me that she couldnt abear tp see and hear me coming out as a reglar brown one. Couldnt abear to make-believe as I meant it! In conse- qnence of which, we was everlastingly in dan- ger with her. Mrs. Boffin laughed heartily at herself; but a certain glistening in her honest eyes revealed that she was by no means cured of that dangerous. propensity. I assure you, my dear, said Mr. Boffin, that on the celebrated day when I made what has since been agreed upon to be my grandest demonstrationI allude to Mew says the cat, Quack quack says the duck, and Bow-wow-wow says the dogI assure you, my dear, that on that celebrated day, them flinty and unbelieving words hit my old lady so hard on my account, that I had to hold her, to prevent her running out after you, and defending me by saying I was playing a part. Mrs. Boflin laughed heartily again, and her eyes glistened again, and it then appeared, not only that in that burst of sarcastic eloquence Mr. Boffin was considered by his two fellow-con- spirators to have outdone himself, but that in his own opinion it was a remarkable achievement. Never thought of it afore the moment, my dear! he observed to Bella. When John said, if he had been so happy as to win your af- fections and possess your heart, it come into my head to turn round upon him with Win her af- fections and possess her heart! Mew says the cat, Quack quack says the dnck, and Bow-wow- wow says the dog. I couldnt tell you how it come into my bead or where from, but it had so much the sound of a rasper that I own to you it astonished myself. I was awful nigh bursting out a laughing though, when it made John stare! You said, my pretty, Mrs. Boffin reminded Bella, that there was one other thing you couldnt understand. 0 yes I cried Bella, covering her face with her hands, but that I never shall be able to understand as long as I live. It is, how John could love me so when I so little deserved it, and how you, Mr. and Mrs. Boflin, could be so for- getful of yourselves, and take such pains and trouble, to make me a little better, and after all to help him to so unworthy a wife. But I am very, very grateful. It was John Harmons turn thenJohn Har- mon now for good, and John Rokesmith for nev- ermoreto plead with her (quite unnecessarily) in behalf of his deception, and to tell her, over and over again, that it had been prolonged by her own winning graces in her supposed station of life. This led on to many interchanges of en- dearment and enjoyment on all sides, in the midst of which the Inexhaustible being observed staring, in a most imbecile manner, on Mrs. Bof- fins breast, was pronounced to be supernaturally intelligent as to the whole transaction, and was made to declare to the ladies and gemplemorums, with a wave of the speckled fist (with difficulty detached from an exceedingly short waist), I have already informed my venerable Ma that I know all about it ! Then, said John Harmon, would Mrs. John Harmon conie and see her house? And a dainty house it was, and a tastefully beautiful; and they went through it in proces~sion; the Inex- haustible on Mrs. Boflins bosom (still staring) occupying the middle station, and Mr. Boffin bringing up the rear. And on Bellas exquisite toilet-table was an ivory casket, and in the cask- et w~ere jewels the like of which she had never dreamed og and aloft on an upper floor was a nursery garnished as with rainbows; though we were hard put to it, said John Harmon, to get it done in so short a time. The house inspected, emissaries removed the Inexhaustible, who was shortly afterward heard screaming among the rainbows; whereupon Bella withdrew herself from the presence and knowl- edge of gemplemorums, and the screamingeensed,, and smiling Peace associated herself with that young olive branch. Come and look in, Noddy! said Mrs. Bof- fin to Mr. Boflin. Mr. BoIlin, submitting to be led on tip-toe to the nursery door, looked in with immense satis- faction, although there was nothing to see hut Bella in a musing state of happiness, seated in a little low chair upon the hearth, with her child in her fair young arms, and her soft eyelashes shading her eyes from the fire. It looks as if the old mans spirit had found rest at last; dont it ? said Mrs. Boffin. Yes, old lady. And as if his money had turned bright again, after a long long rust in the dark, and was at last a beginning to sparkle in the sunlight ? Yes, old lady. And it mal~cs a pretty and a promising pie- ter; dont it 1 Yes, old lady. But, aware at the instant of a fine opening for a point, Mr. Boffin quenched that observation in thisdelivered in the grizzliest growling of the regular brown bear. A pretty and a hopeful picter? Mew, Quack quack, Bow-wow! And then trotted silently down stairs, with his shoul- ders in a state of the liveliest commotion. CHAPTER XIV. CHECKMATE TO THE FRIENDLY MOVE. Mu. and Mrs. John Harmon had so timed their taking possession of their rightful name and their London house, that the event befell, on 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the very day when the last wagon load of the been constrained to depute Mr. Venus to keep last Mound was driven out at the gates of Bof- their dusty friend, Boffin, under inspection, while fins Bower. As it jolted away Mr. Wegg felt he himself turned lank and lean at the Bower. that the last load was correspondingly removed To Mr. Venuss museum Mr. Wegg repaired from his mind, and hailed the auspicious season when at length the Mounds were down and gone. when that black sheep, Boffin, was to be closely It being evening, he found that gentleman, as sheared. he expected, seated over his fire; but did not Over the whole slow process of leveling the find him, as he expected, floating his powerful Mounds Silas had kept watch with rapacious mind in tea. eyes. But eyes no less rapacious had watched Why, you smell rather comfortable here ! the growth of the Mounds in years by-gone, and said Wegg, seeming to take it ill, and stopping had vigilantly sifted the dust of which they were and sniffing as he entered. coin posed. No valuables turned up. How should I am rather comfortable, Sir, said Venus. there be apy, seeing that the old hard jailer of You dont use lemon in your business, do Harmony Jail had coined every waif and stray you? asked Wegg, sniffing again. into money long before? No, Mr. Wegg, said Venus. When I rrhough disappointed by this bare result, Mr. use it at all, I mostly use it in cobblers puneb. Wegg felt too sensihly relieved by the close of What do you call cobblers punch ? de- the labor to grumble to any great extent: A manded Wegg, in a worse humor than before. foreman representative of the dust contractors, Its diffleult to impart the receipt for it, Sir, purchasers of the Mounds, had worn Mr. Wegg returned Venus, because, however particular down to skin and bone. This supervisor of the you may be in allotting your materials, so much proceedings, asserting his employers rights to will still depend upon the individual gifts, and cart off by daylight, nightlight, torchlight, when there being a feeling thrown into it. But the they would, must have been the death of Silas ground-work is gin. if the work had lasted much longer. Seeming In a Dutch bottle ? said Wegg, gloomily, never to need sleep himself, he would reappear, as be sat himself down. with a tied-up broken head, in fantail hat and Very good, Sir, very good ! cried Venus. velveteen smalls, like an accursed goblin, at Will you partake, Sir? the most unholy and untimely hours. Tired out Will I partake ? returned Wegg very surk- by keeping close ward over a long days work in ly. Why, of course I will! Will a man par- fog and rain, Silas would have just crawled to take, as has been tormented out of his five senses bed and be dozing, when a horrid shake and by an everlasting dustman with his head tied up! rumble under his pillow would announce an ap- Will be, too! As if he wouldnt 1 proaching train of carts, escorted by this Demon Dont let it put you out, Mr. Wegg. You of Unrest, to fall to work again. At another dont seem in your usual spirits. time, he would be rumbled up out of his sound- If you come to that, you dont seem in your est sleep, in the dead of the night; at another, usual spirits, growled Wegg. You seem to would be kept at his post eight-and-forty hours be setting up for lively. on end. The more his persecutor besought him This circumstance appeared, in his then state not to trouble himself to turn out, the more sus- of mind, to give Mr. W~gg uncommon offense. picious was the crafty Wegg that indications And youve been having your hair cut ! bad been observed of something hidden some- said Wcgg, missing the usual dusty shock. where, arid that attempts were on foot to cir- Yes, Mr.Wegg. But dont let that put you cumvent him. So continually broken was his out, either. rest through these means, that he led the life of And I am blest if you aint getting fat ! having wagered to keep ten thousand dog-watch- said Wegg, with culminating discontent. What es in ten thousand hours, and looked piteously are you going to do next? upon himself as al~vays getting up and yet never Well, Mr. Wegg, said Venus, smiling in a going to bed. So gaunt and haggard had he sprightly manner, 1 suspect you could hardly gro~vn at last, that his wooden leg showed dis- guess ~vhat I am going to do next. proportionate, and presented a thriving appear- I dont want to guess, retorted Wegg. All ance in contrast with the rest of his plagued Ive got to say is, that its well for you that the body, which might almost have been termed diwision of labor has been what it has been. chubby. Its well for you to have had so light a part in Howeier, Weggs comfort was, that all his this business, when mine has been so heavy. disagrecables ~vere now over, and that he was You havent had your rest broke, Ill be bound. immediately coming into his property. Of late, Not at all, Sir, said Venus. Never rested the grindstone did undoubtedly appear to have so well in all my life, I thank you. been whirling at his own nose rather than Bof- Ab ! grumbled Wegg, you should have fins, but Boffins nose was now to be sharpened been me. If you had been me, and hind been fine. Thus far Mr. Wegg had let his dusty friend fretted out of your bed, and your sleep, and your off lightly, having been balked in that amiable meals, and your mind, for a stretch of months design of frequently dining with him, by the together, youd have been out of condition and machinations of the sleepless dustman. He had out of sorts. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 97 Certainly, it has trained you down, Mr. Wegg, said Venus, contemplating his figure with an artists eye. Trained you down very low, it has! So weazen and yellow is the kiver- lug upon your bones, that one might almost fancy you had come to give a look-in upon the French gentleman in the corner, instead of me. Mr. Wegg, glancing in great dudgeon toward the French gentlemans corner, seemed to notice something new there, which induced him to glance at the opposite corner, and then to put on his glasses and stare at all the nooks and corners of the dim shop in succession. Why, youve been having the place cleaned up! he exclaimed. Yes, Mr. Wegg. By the hand of adorable woman. Then what youre going to do next, I sup- pose, is to get married ? Thats it, Sir. Silas took off his glasses againfinding him- self too intensely disgusted by the sprightly ap- pearance of his friend and partner to bear a magnified view of himand made the inquiry: To the old party? Mr. Wegg ! said Venus, with a sudden flush of wrath. The lady in question is not a old party. I meant, explained Wegg, testily, to the party as formerly objected ? Mr. Wegg, said Venus, in a case of so much delicacy, I must trouble you to say what you mean. There are strings that must not be played upon. No, Sir! Not sounded, unless in the most respectful and tuneful manner. Of such melodious strings is Miss Pleasant Rider- hood formed. Then it is the lady as formerly objected ? said Wegg. Sir, returned Venus with dignity, I ac- cept the altered phrase. It is the lady as for- merly objected. When is it to come off? asked Silas. Mr. Wegg, said Venus, with another flush. I can not permit it to be putin the form of a Fight. I must temperately but firmly call upon you, Sir, to amend that question. When is the lady, Wegg reluctantly de- manded, constraining his ill-temper in remem- brance of the partnership and its stock ift trade, agoing to give her and where she has already given her art? Sir, returned Venus, I again accept the altered phrase, and with pleasure. The lady is agoing to give her and where she has already given her art next Monday. Then the ladys objection has been met ? said Silas. Mr. Wegg, said Venus, as I did name to you, I think, on a former occasion, if not on former occasions On former occasions, interrupted Wegg. What, pursued Venus, what the nature of the ladys objection was, I may impart, with- out violating any of the tender confidences since VOL. XXXII.No. 187.G sprung up between the lady and myself, how it has been met, through the kind interference of two good friends of mine: one, previously ac- quainted with the lady: and one, not. The pint was thrown out, Sir, by those two friends when they did me the great service of waiting on the lady to try if a union betwixt the lady and me could not be brought to bearthe pint, I say, was thrown out by them, Sir, whether if, after marriage, I confined myself to the articu- lation of men, children, and the lower animals, it might not relieve the ladys mind of her feel- ing respecting beingas a ladyregarded in a bony light. It was a happy thought, Sir, and it took root. It would seem, Mr. Venus, observed Wegg, with a touch of distrust., that you are flush of friends ? Pretty well, Sir, that gentleman answered, in a tone of placid mystery. So-so, Sir. Pretty well. However, said Wegg, after eying him with another touch of distrust, I wish you joy. One man spends his fortune in one way, and another in another. You are going to try mat- rimony. I mean to try traveling. Indeed, Mr. Wegg ? Change of air, sea-scenery, and my natural rest, I hope may bring me round after the per- secutious I have undergone from the dustman with his head tied up, which I just now mexi- tioned. The tough job being ended and the Mounds laid low, the hour is come for Boffin to stump up. Would ten to-morrow morning suit you, partner, for finally bringing Boffins nose to the grindstone ? Ten to-morrow morning would quite suit Mr. Venus for that excellent purpose. You have had him well under inspection, I hope ? said Silas. Mr. Venus had had him under inspection pretty well every day. Suppose you was just to step round to-night then, and give him orders from meI say from me, because he knows I wont. be played with to be ready with his papers, his accounts, and his cash, at that time in the morning ? said Wegg. And as a matter of form, which will be agreeable to your own feelings, before we go out (for Ill walk with you part of the way, though my leg gives under me with weariness), lets have a look at the stock in trade. Mr. Venus produced it, and it was perfectly correct; Mr. Venus undertook to produce it again in the morning, and to keep tryst with Mr. Wegg on Boffins doorstep as the clock strnck ten. At a certain point of the road between Clerkenwell and Boffins house (Mr. Wegg ex- pressly insisted that there should be no prefix to the Golden Dustmans name) the partners sepa- rated for the night. It was a very bad night; to which succeeded a very bad morning. The streets were so un- usually slushy, muddy, and miserable, in the morning, that Wegg rode to the scene of action 98 hARPERS NEW MONTHkY MAGAZINE arguing that a man who was, as it were, going to the Bank to draw out a handsome property could well afford that trifling expense. Venus was punctual, and Wegg undertook to knock at the door and conduct the conference. Door knocked at. Door opened. Boffin at home? The servant replied that Mr. Boffin was at home. Hell do, said Wegg, though it aint what I call him. The servant inquired if they had any appoint- ment? Now I tell you what, young fellow, said Wegg, I wont have it. This wont do for me. I dont want menials. I want Boffin. They were shown into a waiting-room, where the all-powerful Wegg wore his hat, and whis- tIed, and with his forefinger stirred up a clock that stood upon the chimney-piece until he made it strike. In a few minutes they were shown up stairs into what used to be Boffins room; which, besides the door of entrance, had folding-doors in it, to make it one of a suit of rooms when occasion required. Here Boffin was seated at a library-table, and here Mr. Wegg, having impe- riously motioned the servant to withdraw, drew up a chair and seated himself, in his hat, close beside him. Here also Mr. Wegg~ instantly un- derwent the remarkable experience of having his hat twitched off his head and thrown out of a window, which was opened and shut for the purpose. Be careful what insolent liberties you take in that gentlemans presence, said the owter of the hand which had done this, or I will thro~v you after it. Wegg involuntarily clapped his hand to his bare head, and stared at the Secretary. For it was he addressed him with a severe countenance, and who had come in quietly by the folding-doors. Oh ! said Wegg, as soon as he recovered his suspended power of speech. Very good! I gave directions for you to be dismissed. And you aint gone, aint you? Oh! Well look into this presently. Very good 1 No, nor I aint gone, said another voice. Somebody else had come in quietly by the folding-doors. Turning his head, Wegg-beheld his persecutor, the ever-wakeful dustman, ac- coutred with fantail hat and velveteen smalls complete. Who, untying his tied-up broken head, revealed a head that was whole and a face that was Sloppys. Ha, ha, ha, gentlemen ! roared Sloppy, in a peal of laughter, and with immeasurable rel- ish. He never thought as I could sleep stand- ing, and often dane it when I turned for Mrs. Iligden! He never thought as I used to give Mrs. Higden the Police-news in different voices! flut I did lead him a life all through it, gentle- men, I hope I reallyand truly DID ! Here Mr. Sloppy opening his mouth to a quite alarming extent, and throwing back his head to peal again, revealed incalculable buttons. Oh! said Wegg, slightly discomfited, but not much as yet: one and one is two not dis- missed, is it? Boffin! Just let me ask a question. Who set this chap on, in this dress, when the carting began? Who employed this fellow ? I say ! remonstrated Sloppy, jerking his head forward. No fellows, or ill throw you out of winder ! Mr. Boffin appeased him with a wave of his hand, and said: I employed him, Wegg. Oh! You employed him, Boffin? Very good. Mr. Venus, we raise our terms, and we cant do better than proceed to business. Bof fin! I want the room cleared of these two scum. Thats not going to be done, Wegg, replied Mr. Boffin, sitting composedly on the library- table, at one end, while the Secretary sat com- posedly on it at the other. Boffin! Not going to be done ? repeat- ed Wegg. Not at your peril? No, Wegg, said Mr. Boffin, shaking his head good-humoredly. Not at aty peril, and not on any other terms. Wegg reflected a moment, and then said: Mr. Venus, will you be. so good as hand me over that same dockyment ? Certainly, Sir, replied Venus, handing it to him with much politeness. There it is. Having now, Sir, parted with it, I wish to make a small observation: not so much because it is any ways necessary, or expresses any newdoc- trine or discovery, as because it is a comfort to my mind. Silas Wegg, you are a precious old rascal. Mr. Wegg, who, as if anticipating a compli- ment, had been beating time with the paper to the others politeness until this unexpedted con- clusion came upon him, stopped rather abruptly. Silas Wegg, said Venus, know that I took the liberty of taking Mr. Boffin into our concern, as a sleeping partner, at a very early period of our firms existence. Quite true, added Mr. Boffin; and I tested Venus by making him a pretended pro- posal or two; and I found him on the whole a very honest man, Wegg. So Mr. Boffin, in his indulgence, is pleased to say, Venus remarked: though in the be- ginning of this dirt my hands werenot, for a few hours, quite as clean as I could~ wish. But I hope I made early and fullamends. Venus, you did, said Mr. Boffin. Cer- tainly, certainly, certainly. Venus inclined his head with respect and grat- itude. Thank you, Sir. I am much obliged to you, Sir, for all. For your good opinion now, for your way of receiving and encouraging me when I first put myself in communication with you, and for the influence since so kindly bronghs to bear upon a certain lady, both by yourself and by Mr. John Harmon. To whom, when thus making mention of him, he also bowed. Wegg followed the name with sharp ears and OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 99 the action with sharp eyes, and a certain cring- ing air was infusing itself into his bullying air, when his attention was re-claimed by Venus. Every thing else between you and me, Mr. Wegg, said Venus, now explains itself, and you can now make out, Sir, without further words from me. But totally to prevent any un- pleasantness or mistake that might arise on whdt I consider an important point, to be made quite clear at the close of our acquaintance, I beg the leave of Mr. Boffin and Mr. John Harmon to repeat an observation which I have already had the pleasure of bringing under your notice. You are a precious old rascal l You are a fool, said Wegg, with a snap of his fingers, and Id have got rid of you be- fore now, if I could have struck out any way of doing it. I have thought it over, I can tell you. You may go, and welcome, You leave the more for me. Because, you know, said Wegg, di- viding his next observation between Mr. Boffin and Mr. Harmon, I am worth my price, and I mean to have it. This getting. off is all very well in its way, and it tells with such an ana- tomical Pump as this one, pointing out Mr. Venus, but it wont do with a Man. I am here to be bought off, and I have named my figure. Now, buy me, or leave me. Ill leave you, Wegg, said Mr. Boffin, laughing, as far as I am concerned. Boffin 1 replied Wegg, turning upon him with a severe air, I understand your new-born boldness. I see the brass underneath your sil- ver. You have got your nose put out of joint. Knowing that youve nothing at stake, you can afford to come the independent game. Why, youre just so much smeary glass to see through, you know! But Mr. Harmon is in another sit- iwation. What Mr. Harmon risks is quite an- other pair of shoes. Now, Ive heerd something lately about this being Mr. HarmonI make out now some hints that Ive met on that subject in the newspaperand I drop you, Boffin, as beneath my notice. I ask Mr. Harmon whether he has any idea of the contents of this present paper? it is a will of my late fathers, of more re- cent date than the will proved by Mr. Bollln (address whom again, as you have addressed him already, and Ill knock you down), leaving the whole of his property to the Crown, said John Harmon, with as much indifference as was compatible with extreme sternness. Right you are I cried Wegg. Then, screwing the weight of his body upon hiswood- en leg, and screwing his wooden head very much on one side, and screwing up one eye: then, I put the question to you, whats this paper worth ? Nothing, said John Harmon. Wegg had repeated the word with a sneer, and was entering on some sarcastic retort, when, to his boundless amazement, he found himself gripped by the cravat; shaken until his teeth chattered; shoved back, staggering, into a cor- ner of the room; and pinned there. You scoundrel ! said John Harmon, whose sea-faring hold was like that of a vice. Youre knocking my head against the wall, urged Silas, faintly. I mean to knock your head against the wall, returned John Harmon, suiting his ac- tion to his words, with the heartiest good-will; and Id give a thousand pounds for leave to knock your brains out. Listen, you scoundrel, and look at that Dutch bottle. Sloppy held it up, for his edification. That Dutch bottle, scoundrel, contained the latest will of the many wills made by my unhap- py self-tormenting father. That will gives ev- ery thing absolutely to my noble benefactor and yours, Mr. Boffin, excluding and reviling me, and my sister (then already dead ot a broken heart), by name. That Dutch bottle was found by my noble benefactor and yours, after he en- tered on possession of the estate. That Dutch bottle distressed him beyond measure, because, though I and my sister were both no more, it cast a slur upon our memory which he knew we had done nothing in our miserable youth to de- serve. That Dutch bottle, therefore, he buried in the Mound belonging to him, and there it lay while you, you thankless wretch, were prodding and pokingoften very near it, I dare say. His intention was, that it should never see the light; but he was afraid to destroy it, lest to destroy such a document, even with his great generous motive, might be an offense at law. After the discovery was made here Who I was, Mr.Boffln, still restless on the subject, told me, upon cer- tain conditions impossible for such a hound as you to appreciate, the secret of that Dutch bot- tle. I urged upon him the necessity of its being dug up, and the paper being legally produced and established. The first thing you saw him do, and the second thing has been done without your knowledge. Consequently, the paper now rattling in your hand as I shake youand I should like to shake the life out of youis worth less than the rotten cork of the Dutch bottle, do you understand ? Judging from the fallen countenance of Silad as his head wagged backward and forward in a most uncomfortable manner, he did understand. Now, scoundrel, said John Harmon, tak- ing another sailor-like turn on his cravat and holding him in his corner at arms-length, I shall make two more short speeches to you, be- cause I hope they will torment you. Your dis- covery was a genuine discovery (such as it was), for nobody had thought of looking into that place. Neis~her did we know you had made it until Venus spoke to Mr. Boffin, though I kept you under good observation from my first ap- pearance here, and though Sloppy has long made it the chief occupation and delight of his lifeto attend you like your shadow. I tell you this, that you may know we knew enough of you to persuade Mr. Boffin to let us lead you on, de- luded, to the last possible moment, in order that your disappointment might be the heavieSt pos 100 HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sible disappointment. Thats the first short speech, do you understand ? Here John Harmon assisted his comprehen- sion with another shake. Now, scoundrel, he pursued, I am going to finish. You supposed me just now to be the possessor of my fathers property.So I am. But through any act of my fathers, or by any right I have? No. Through the munificence of Mr. Boflin. The conditions that he made with me, before parting with the secret of the Dutch bottle, were, that I should take the for- tune, and that he should take his Mound and no more. I owe every thing I possess solely to the disinterestedness, uprightness, tenderness, good- ness (there are no words to satisfy me) of Mr. and Mrs. Boffin. And when, knowing what I knew, I saw such a mud-worm, as you presume to rise in this house against this noble soul, the wonder is, added John Harmon through his clenched teeth, and with a very ugly turn in- deed on Weggs cravat, that I didnt try to twist your head off, and fling that out of win- dow! So. Thats the last short speech, do you understand ? Silas, released, put his hand to his throat, cleared it, and looked as if he had a rather large fish bone in that region. Simultaneously with this action on his part in his corner, a singular, and on the surface an incomprehensible, move- ment was made by Mr. Sloppy: who began back- ing toward Mr. Wegg along the wall, in the manner of a porter or heaver who is about to lift a sack of flour or coals. I am sorry, Wegg, said Mr. Boffin, in his clemency, that my old lady and I cant have a better opinion of you than the bad one we are forced to entertain. But I shouldnt like to leave you, after all said and done, worse off in life than I found you. Therefore say in a word, before we part, what itll cost to set you up in another stall. And in another place, John Harmon struck in. You dont come outside these windows. Mr. Boffin, returned Wegg in avaricious humiliation: when I first had the honor of making your acquaintance, I had got together a collection of ballads which was, I may say, above price.., Then they cant be paid for, said John harmon, and you had better not try, my dear Sir. Pardon me, Mr. Bofilo, resumed Wegg, with a malignant glance bi.$he last speakers di- rection, I was putting she ease to you, who, if my senses did not deceive me, put the case to me. I had a very choice collection of ballads, and there was a new stock of giegerbread in the tin box, I say no more, but would rather leave it to you. But its difficult to name whats right, said Mr. Boffin uneasily, with his hand in his pocket, and I dont Want to. go beyond whats right, because you really have turned out such a very bad customer. So artful, and so ungrateful you have been, Wegg; for when did I ever injure you? There was also, Mr. Wegg went on, in a meditative manner, a errand connection, in which I was much respected. But I would not wish to be deemed covetuous, and I would rather leave it to you, Mr. Boffin. Upon my word, I dont know what to put it at, the Golden Dustman muttered. There was likewise, resumed. Wcgg, a pair of trestles, for which alone a Irish person, who was deemed a judge of trestles, offered five and siua su.m I would not hear of, for I should have lost by itand there was a stool, a um- brella, a clothes.horse, and a tray. But I leave it to you, Mr. Boffin. The Golden Dustman seeming to be engaged in some abstruse calculation, Mr. Wegg assisted him ~vith the following additional items. There was, further, Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, and Uncle Parker. Ab! When ~ man thinks of the loss of such patron- age as that; when a man finds so falr a garden rooted up by pigs; he finds it hard indeed, with- out going high, to work it into money. But I leave it wholly to you, Sir. Mr. Sloppy stilL continued his singular, and on the surface his iucomprehensible, move- ment. Lending on has been mentioned, said Wegg, with a melancholy air, and its not easy to say how far the tone of my mind may have been lowered by unwholesome reading on the subject of Misers, when you was leading me and others on to think you one yourself, Sir. All I can say is, that I felt my tone of mind a lo~vering at the time. And how can a man put a price upon his mind! There was likewise ahat just uow. Jint I leave the ole to you, Mr. Boflin. Come ! said Mr. Boflin. Heres a couple of pound. In justice to myself, I couldnt take it, Sir. The words were but out of his mouth when John Harmon lifted his finger, and Sloppy, who was now close to Wegg, backed to Weggs back, stooped, grasped his coat collar behind with bosh hands, and deftly swung him up like the sack of flour or coals before mentioned. A counte- nance of special diseontent and amazement Mr. Wegg exhibited in this position, with his but- tons almost as prominently on view as Sloppys own, and with his wooden leg in a highly unac- commodating state. But not for many seconds was his countenance visible in the room; for Sloppy lightly trotted out with him and trotted down the staircase, Mr. Venus attending to open the street door. Mr. Sloppys instructions bad been to deposit his burden in the road; but a scavengers cart happening to stand unattended at the corner, with its little ladder planted against the wheel, Mr. S. found it impossible to resist the temptation of shooting Mr. Silas Wegg into the carts contents. A somewhat difficult feat, achieved with great dexterity, and with a pro- digious splash. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 101 CHAPTER XV. WHAT WAS CAUGHT IN THE TRAPS THAT WERE SET. How Bradley Headstone had been racked and riven in his mind Since the quiet evening when by the river-side he had risen, as it were, out of the ashes of the Bargeman, none but he could have told. Not even he could have told, for such misery can only be felt. First, he had to hear the combined weight of the knowledge of what he had done, of that haunting reproach that he might have done itso much better, and of the dread of discovery. This was load enough to crush him, and he labored under it day and night. It was as heavy on him in his scanty sleep as in his red-eyed waking hours. It bore him down with a dread unchang- ing monotony, in which there was not a mo- ments variety. The overweighted beast of bur- den, or the overweighted slave, can for certain instants shift the physical load, and find some slight respite even in enforcing additional pain upon such a set of muscles or such a limb. Not even that poor mockery of relief could the wretched man obtain, under the steady pressure of the infernal atmosphere into which he had entered. Time went by, and no visible suspicion dogged him; time went by, and in such public accounts of the attack as were renewed at intervals, he began to see Mr Lightwood (who acted as law- yer for the injured man) straying further from the fact, going wider of the issue, and evide~itly slackening in his zeal. By degrees a glimmer- ing of the cause of this began to break on Brad- leys sight. Then came the chance encounter with Mr. Milvey at the railway station (where he often lingered in his leisure hours, as a place where any fresh news of his deed would be cir- culated, or any placard referring to it would be posted), and then he saw in the light what he had brought about. For then he saw that through his desperate attempt to separate those two forever he had been made the means of uniting them. That he had dipped his hands in blood to mark himself a miserable fool and tool. That Eugene Wray- burn, for his wifes sake, set him aside and left him to crawl along his blasted course. He thought of Fate, or Providence, or be the di- recting Power what it might, as having put a fraud upon himoverreached himand in his impotent mad rage bit, and tore, and had his fit. New assurance of the truth came upon him in the next few following days, when it was put forth how the wounded man had been married on his bed, and to whom, and how, though al- ways in a dangerous condition, he was a shade better. Bradley would far rather have been seized for his murder than he would have read that passage, knowing himself spared, and know- ing why. But, not to be still further defrauded and over- reachedwhich he would be if implicated by Riderhood, and punished by the law for his ab- ject failure, as though It had been a success he kept close in his school during the day, ven- tured out warily at night, and went no more to the railway station. He examined the advertise- ments in the newspapers for any sign that Rider- hood acted on his hinted threat of so summon- ing him to renew their acquaintance, but found none. Having paid him handsomely for the support and accommodation he had had at the Lock House, and knowing him to be a very ig- norant man who could not write, he began to doubt whether he was to be feared at all, or whether they need ever meet again. All this time his mind was never off the racic, and his raging sense of having been matle to fling himself across the chasm which divided those two, and bridge it over for their coming together, never cooled down. This horrible con- dition brought on other fits. He could not have said how many, or when; but he saw in the faces of his pupils that they had seen him in that state, and that they were possessed by a dread of his relapsing. One winter day, when a slight fall of snow was feathering the sills and frames of the school- room windows, he stood at his blackboard, cray- on in hand, about to commence with a class; when, reading in the countenances of those boys that theie was something wrong, and that they seemed in alarm for him, he turned his eyes to the door toward which they faced. He then saw a slouching man of forbidding appearance standing in the midst of the school, with a bun- dle under his arm; and saw that it was Rider- hood. He sat down on a stool which one of his boys put for him, and lfe had a passing knowledge that he was in danger of falling, and that his face was becoming distorted. But the fit went off for that time, and he wiped his mouth, and stood up again. Beg your pardon, governor! By your leave l said Riderhood, knuckling his forehead, with a chuckle and a leer. What place may this be? This is a school. Where young folks learns wots right ? said Riderhood, gravely nodding. Beg your par- don, governor! By your leave! But iho teach- es this school ? I do. Youre the master, are you, learned gov- ernor ? Yes. I am the master. And a lovely thing it must be, said RideT- hood, fur to learn young folks wots right, and fur to know wot they know wot you do it. Beg your pardon, learned governor! By your leave! That there blackboard; wots it for ? It is for drawing on, or writing on. Is it though ! said Riderhood. Whod have thought it, from the looks on it! Would you be so kind as write your name upon it, learned governor ? (In a wheedling tone.) 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Bradley hesitated for a moment; but placed his usual signature, enlarged, upon the board.. I aint a learned character myself, said Riderhood, surveying the class, but I do ad- mire learning in others. I should dearly like to hear these here young folks read that there name off from the writiw~ The arms of the class went np. At the mis- erable masters nod the shrill chorus arose: Bradley Headstone ! No ? cried Riderhood. You dont mean it? Headstone! Why, thats in a church- yard. Hooroar for another turn ! Another tossing of arms, another nod, and another shrill chorus: Bradley Headstone ! Ive got it now! said Riderhood, after at- tentively listening, and internally repeating: Bradley. I see. Chrisen name, Bradley, simlar to Roger, which is my own. Eh? Famly name, Headstone, simlar to Riderhood, which is my own. Eh ? Shrill chorus. Yes! Might you be acquainted, learned governor, said Riderhood, with a person of about your own heighth and breadth, and wot ud pull down in a scale about your own weight, answering to a name sounding summat like .Totherest? With a desperation in him that made him perfectly quiet, though his 7aw was heavily squared; with his eyes upon Riderhood; and with traces of quickened breathing ia his nos- trils, the schoolmaster replied, in a suppressed voice, after a pause: I think I know the man you mean.~, I thought you knowed the man I mean, learned governor. I want the man. With a half glance around him at his pupils, Bradley returned: Do yousuppose he is here ? Begging your pardon, learned governor, and by your leave, said Riderhood, with a laugh, how could I suppose hes here, when theres nobody here but you, and me, and these young lambs wot youre a learning on? But he is most excellent company, that man, and I want him to come and see me at my Lock, up the river. Ill tell him so. Dye think hell come? asked Riderhood. I am sure he will. Having got your word for him, said Rider- hood, I shall count upon him. Praps youd so fur obleege me, learned governor, as tell him that if he dont come precious soon Ill look him up. He shall know it. Thankee. As I says a while ago, pursued Riderhood, changing his hoarse tone and leering round upon the class again, though not a learn- ed character my own self; I do admire learning in others, to be sure! Being here and having met with your kind attention, Master, might I, afore I go, ask a question of these here young lambs of yourn ? If it is in the way of school, said Bradley, always sustaining his dark look at the other, and speaking in his suppressed voice, you may. Oh! Its in the way of school ! cried Rid- erhood. Ill pound it, Master, to be in the way of sehool. Wots the diwisions of water, my lambs? Wot sorts of water is there on the land ? Shrill chorus: Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds. Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds, said Rider- hood. Theyve got all the lot, Master! Blowed if I shouldnt have left out lakes, never having clapped eyes upon one, to my knowledge. Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds. Wot is it, lambs, as they catches in seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds ? Shrill chorus (with some contempt for the ease of the question): Fish ! Good agin ! said Riderhood. But wot else is it, my lambs, as they sometimes ketches in rivers? Chorus at a loss. One shrill voice: Weed ! Good agin ! crIed Riderhood. But it aint weed neither. Youll never guess, my dears. Wot is it, besides fish, as they sometimes ketch- es in rivers? Well! Ill tell you. Its suits o clothes. Bradleys face changed. Leastways, lambs, said Riderhood, observ- ing him out of the corners of his eyes, thats wot I my own self sometimes ketches in rivers. For strike me blind, my lambs, if I didnt ketch in a river the wery bundle under my arm The class looked at the master, as if appeal- ing from the irregular entrapment of this mode of examination. The master looked at the examiner, as if he would have torn him to pieces. I ask your pardon, learned governor, said Riderhood, smearing his sleeve across his mouth as he laughed with a relish, taint fair to the lambs, I know. It wos a bit of fun -of mine. But upon my soul I drawed this here bundle out of a river! Its a Bargemans suit of clothes. You see, it had been sunk there by the man as wore it, and I got it up. How do you know it was sunk by the man who wore it ? asked Bradley. Cause I see him do it, said Riderhood. They looked at each other. Bradley, slowly ivithdrs~wing his eyes, turned his face to the blackboard and slowly wiped his name out. A heap of thanks, Master, said Riderhood, for bestowing so much of your time, and of the lambses time, upon a man as hasnt got no oth- er recommendation to you than being a honest man. Wishing to see at my Lock up the river the pei~son as weave spoke of; and as youve an- swered for, I takes my leave of the lambs and of their learned governor both. With those words he slouched out of the school, leaving the master to get through his weary work as he might, and leaving the whis- pering pupils to observe the masters face until he fell into the fit which had been long impending. The next day but one was Saturday, and a holiday. Bradley rose early, and set out on foot for Plashwater Weir Mill Lock. He rose so early that it was not yet light when he began OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 103 his journey. Before extinguishing the candle by which he had dressed himself he made a lit- tle parcel of his decent silver watch and its de- cent guard, and wrote inside the paper: Kind- ly take care of these for me. He then addressed the parcel to Miss Peecher, and left it on the most proseeted corner of the little seat in her little porch. It was a cold hard easterly morning when he latched the garden gate and turned away. The light snowfall which had feathered his school- room windows on the Thursday still lingered in the air, and was faIling white, while the wind blew black. The tardy day did not appear un- til he had been on foot two hours, and had trav- ersed a great part of London from east to west. Such breakfast as he had he took at the com- fortless public house where he had parted horn Riderhood on the occasion of their night-walk. He took it, standing at the littered bar, and looked loweringly at a man who stood where Riderhood had stood that early morning. He outwalked the short day, and was on the towing-path by the river, somewhat foot-sore, when the night closed in. Still two or three miles short of the Lock, he slackened his pace then, but went steadily on. The ground was now covered with snow, though thinly, and there vere floating lumps of ice in the more exposed parts of the river, and broken sheets of ice un- der. the shelter of the banks; He took heed of nothing but the ice, the snow, and the distance, until he saw a light ahead, which he knew gleamed from the Lock House window. It ar- rested his steps, and he looked all around. The ice, and the snow, and he, and the one light, had absolute possession of the dreary scene. In the distance.before him, lay the place where he had struck the worse than useless blows that mockea him with Lizzies presence there as Eu- genes wife. In the distance behind him, lay the place where the children with pointing arms had seemed to devote him to the demons in cry- ing out his name. Within there, where the light was, was the man who as to both distances could give him up to ruin. To these limits had his world shrunk~ He mended his pace, keeping his eyes upon the light with a strange intensity, as if he were taking aim at it. When he approached it so nearly as that it parted into rays, they seemed to fasten themselves to him and draw him on. When he struck the door with his hand, his foot followed so quickly on his hand that he was in the room before he was bidden to enter. The light was the joint product of a fire and a candle. Between the two, with his feet on the iron fender, sat Riderhood, pipe in mouth. He looked up with a surly nod when his visit- or came in. His visitor looked down with a surly nod. His outer clothing removed, the visitor then took a seat on the opposite side of the fire. Not a smoker, I think ? said Riderhood, pushing a bottle to him across the table. No. They both lapsed into silence with their eyes upon the fire. You dont need to be told I am here, said Bradley at length. Who is to begin ? Ill begin,~ said Riderhood, when Ive smoked this here pipe out. He finished it with great deliberation, knocked out the ashes on the hob, and put it by. Ill begin, he then repeated, Bradley Headstone, Master, if you wish it. Wish it? I wish to know what you want with me. And so you shall. Riderhood had looked hard at his hands and his pockets, apparently as a precautionary measure lest he should have any weapon about him. But h~ now leaned for- ward, turning the collar of his waistcoat wish an inquisitive finger, and asked, Why, wheres your watch? I have left it behind. I want it. But it can be fetched. Ive took a fancy to it. Bradley answered with a contemptuous laugh. I want it, repeated. Riderhood, in a louder voice, and I mean to have it. That is what you want of me, is it ? No, said Riderhood, still louder; its ony part of what I want ofyon. Iwant money of yost Any thing else? Every think else I roared Riderhood, in a very loud and furious way. Answer me like that and I wont talk to you as all. Bradley looked at him. Dont so much as look at me like that or I wont talk to you at all, vociferated Riderhood. But, instead of talking, Ill bring my hand down upon you with all its weight, heayilv smiting the table with great force, and smash you ! Go on, said Bradley, after moistening his lips. 01 Im agoing on. Dont you fear but Ill go on full-fast enough for you, and fur enough for you, without your telling. Look here, I3rad- ley Headstone, Master. You might have split the Tother governor to chips and wedges, with- out my caring, except that I might have come upon you for a glass or so now and then. Else why have to do with you at all? But when you copied my clothes, and when you ~opied my neckhankercher, and when you shook blood upon me after you had done the trick, you did wot Ill be paid for and paid heavy for. If it come to be throwd upon you, you was to be ready to throw it upon me, was you? Where else but in Plashwater Weir Mill Lock was there a man dressed according as described? Where else but in Plashwater Weir Mill Lock was there a man as had had words with him coming through in his boat? Look at the Lock- keeper in Plashwater Weir Mill Lock, in them same answering clothes and with that same an- swering red neckhankercher, and see whether his clothes happens to be bloody or not. Yes, they do happen to be bloody. Ah, you sly devil I 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Bradley, very white, sat looking at him in silence. But two could play at your game, said Riderhood, snapping his fingers at him half a dozen times, and I played it long ago; long nfore you tried your clumsy hand at it; in days when you hadnt begun croaking your lecters or what not in your school. I know to a figure how you done it. Where you stole away I could steal away arter you, and do it knowinger than you. I know how you come away from London in your own clothes, and where ~you changed your clothes and hid your clothes. I see you with my own eyes take your own clothes from their hiding-place among them felled trees and take a dip in the river to account for your dressing yourself, to any one as might come by. I see you rise up Bradley Headstone, Master, where yon sat down Bargeman. I sec you pitch your Bargemans bundle into the river. I hooked your Bargemans bundle out of the river. Ive got your Bargemans clothes, tore this way and that way with the scuffle, stained green with the grass, and spattered all over with what bust from the blows. Ive got them, and Ive got you. I dont care a curse for the Tother gov- ernor, alive or dead, but I care a many curses for my own self. And as you laid your plots agin me and was a sly devil agin me, Ill be paid for itIll be paid for itIll be paid for it till Ive drained you dry ! Bradley looked at the fire with a working face and was silent for a while. At last he said, with what seemed an inconsistent composure of voice and feature: You cant get blood out of a stone, Rider- hood. I can get money out of a schoolmaster though. You cant get out of me what is not in me. You cant wrest from me what I have not got. Mine is but a poor calling. You have had more than two guineas from me already. Do you know how long it has taken me (allowing for a long and arduons training) to earn such a sum ? I dont know, nor I dont care. Yours is a spectable calling. To save your spectability its worth your while to pawn every article of clothes youve got, sell every stick in your house, and beg and borrow every penny you can get trusted with. When youve done that and handed over Ill leave you. Not afore. How do you mean, youll leave me ? I mean as Ill keep you company, wherever you go, when you go away from here. Let the Lock take care of itself. Ill take care of you, once Ive got you. Bradley again looked at the fire. Eying him aside, Riderhood took up his pipe, refilled it, lighted it, and sat smoking. Bradley leaned his elbows on his knees, and his head upon his hands, and looked at the fire wIth a most intent abstraction. Riderhood, he said, raising himself in his chair, after a long silence, and drawing out his purse and putting it on the table. Say I part with this, which is all the money I have; say I lct you have my watch; say that every quarter, when I draw my salary, I pay you a certain por- tion of it. Say nothing of the sort, retorted Rider- hood, shaking his head as he smoked. Youve got away once, and I wont run the chance agin. Ive had trouble enongh to find you, and shouldnt have found you, if I hadnt seen you slipping along the street overnight, and watched you till you was safe housed. Ill have one settlement with you for good and all. Riderhood, I am a man who has lived a se- cluded life. I have no resources beyond myself. I have absolutely no friends. Thats a lie, said Riderhood. Youve got one friend as I knows of; one as is good for a Savings Bank book, or Im a blue monkey l Bradleys face darkened, and his hand slowly closed on the purse and drew it back, as he sat listening for what the other should go on to say. I went into the wrong shop, fust, lastThnrs- day, said Riderhood. Found myself among the young ladies, by George! Over the young ladies, I see a Missis. That Missis is sweet enough upon you, Master, to sell herself up, slap, to get you out of trouble. Make her do it then. Bradley stared at him so very suddenly that Riderhood not quite knowing how to take it, af- fected to be occupied with the encircling smoke from his pipe; fanning it away with his hand, and blowing it off. You spoke to the mistress, did you ? in- quired Bradley, with that former composure of voice and feature that seemed inconsistent, and with averted eyes. Poof! Yes, said Riderhood, drawing his attention from the smoke. I spoke to her. I didnt say much to her. She was put in fluster by my dropping in among the young ladies (I never did set up for a ladys man), and she took me into her parlor to hope as there was nothing wrong. I tells her, 0 no, nothing wrong. The masters my wery good friend. But I see how the land laid, and that she was comfortable off. Bradley put the purse in his pocket, grasped his left wrist with his right hand, and sat rigid- ly contemplating the fire. She couldnt live more handy to you than she does, said Riderhood, and when I goes home with you (as of course I am agoing), I recommend you to clean her out without loss of time. You can marry her arter you and me have come to a settlement. Shes nice-looking, and I know you cant be keeping company with no one els~ having been so lately disapinted in another quarter Not one other word did Bradley utter all that night. Not once did he change his attitude, or loosen his hold upon his wrist. Rigid before the fire, as if it were a charmed flame that was turning him old, he sat, with the dark lines deepening in his face, its stare becoming more OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. io~ and more haggard, its surface turning whiter and whiter as if it were being overspread with ashes, and the very texture and color of his hair degenerating. Not nntil the late daylight made the window transparent did this decaying statue move. Then it slowly arose, and sat in the window, looking out. Riderhood had kept his chair all night. In the earlier part of the night he had mattered twice or thrice that it was bitter cold; or that the fire burned fast, when he got up to mend it; but as he could elicit from his companion nei- ther sound nor movement, he had afterward held his peace. He was making some disorderly preparations for coffee, when Bradley came from the,window and put on his outer coat and hat. Hadntus better have a bit o breakfast afore we start ? said Riderhood. It aint good to freeze a empty stomach, Master. Without a sign to show that he heard, Brad- Icy walked out of the Lock House. Catehing up from the table a piece of bread, and taking his Bargemans bundle under his arm, Rider- hood immediatelyfollowed him. Bradleyturned toward London. Riderhood caught him up, and walked at his side. The two men trudged on, side by side, in si- lence, full three miles. Suddenly, Bradley turn- ed to retrace his course. Instantly, Riderhood turned likewise, and they went back side by side. Bradley re-entered the Lock House. So did Riderhood. Bradley sat down in the window. Riderhood warmed himself at the fire. After an hour or more, Bradley abruptly got up again, and again ~vent out, but this time turned the other way. Riderhood was close after him, caught him up in a few paces, and walked at his side. This time, as before, when he foand his at- tendant not to be shaken off, Bradley suddenly turned back. This time, as before, Riderhood turned back along with him. But not this time, as before, did they go into the Lock House, for Bradley came to a stand on the snow-covered turf by the Lock, looking up the river and down the river. Navigation was impeded by the frost, and the scene was a mere white and yellow des- 2rt. Come, come, Master, urged Riderbood, at his side. This is a dry game. And wheres the good of it? You cant get rid of me, ex- cept by coming to a settlement. I am agoing along with you wherever you go. Without a word of re~dy, Bradley passed quick- ly from him over the wooden bridge oti the lock gates. Why, theres even less sense in this move than tother, said Riderhood, following. The Weirs there, and youll have to come back, you know. Without taking the least notice, Bradley leaned his body against a post, in a resting attitude, and there rested with his eyes cast down. Being brought here, said Riderhood, gruffly, Ill turn it to some use by changing my gates. With a rattle and a rush of water he then swung-to the lock gates that were standing open, before open- ing the others. So, beth sets of gates were, fo; the moment, closed. Youd better by far be reasonable, Bradley Headstone, Master, said Riderhood, or Ill drain you all the dryer for it, when we do set- tle.Ah! Would you I Bradley had caught him round the body. He seemed to be girdled with an iron ring. They were on the brink of the Lock, about midway between the two sets of gates. Let go ! said Riderhood, or Ill get my knife out and slash you wherever I can cut you. Let go Bradley was drawing to the Lock-edge. Rid- erhood was drawing away from it. It was a strong grapple, and a fierce struggle, arm and leg. Bradley got him round, with his back to the Lock, and still worked him backward. Let go ! said Riderhood. Stop! What are you frying at? You cant drown Me. Aint I told you that the man as has come through drowning can never be drowned? I cant be drowned. I can be I returned Bradley, in a despe- rate, clenched voice. I am resolved to be. Ill hold you living, and Ill hold you dead. Come down ! Riderhood went over into the smooth pit, back- ward, and Bradley Headstone upon him. When the two were found, lying under the ooze and scum behind one of the rotting gates, Riderhoods hold had relaxed, probably in falling, and his eyes were staring upward. But he was girdled still with Bradleys iron ring, and the rivets of the iron ring held tight. CHAPTER XVL PERSONS AND THiNGS IN GENERAL. Mn. and Mrs. John Harmons first delightful occupation was, to set all matters right that had strayed in any way wrong, or that might, could, would, or should, have strayed in any way wrong, while their name was in abeyance. In tracing out affairs for which Johns fictitious death was to be considered in any way responsible, they used a very broad and free construction; regard- ing, for instance, the dolls dress-maker as hav- ing a claim on their protection, because of her association with Mrs. Eugene Wrayburn, and be- cause of Mrs. Eugenes old association, in her turn, with the dark side of the story. It followed that the old man, Riab, as a good and servicea- ble friend to beth, was not to be disclaimed. Nor even Mr. Inspector, as having been trepann~d into an industrious hunt on a false scent. It may be remarked, in connection with that worthy of- ficer, that a rtimor shortly afterward pervaded the Force, to the effect that he had confided to Miss Abbey Potterson, over ajug of mellow flip 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in thc bar of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, that he didnt stand to lose a farthing through Mr. Harmons coming to life, but was quite as well satisfied as if that gentleman had been bar- barously murdered, and he (Mr. Inspector) had pocketed the government reward. In all their arrangements of such nature, Mr. and Mrs. John Harmon derived much assistance from their eminent solicitor, Mr. Mortimer Light- wood; who laid about him professionally with such unwontcd dispatch and intention, that a piece of work was vigorously pursued as soon as cut out; whereby Young Blight was acted on as by that transatlantic dram ~vhich is poetically named An Eye-Opener, and found himself star- ing at real clients instead of out of ~vindow. The accessibility of Riah proving very useful as to a few hints.toward the disentanglement of Eugenes affairs, Lightwood applied himself with infinite zest to attacking and harassing Mr. Fledgeby: who, discovering himself in danger of being blown into the air by certain explosive transac- tions in which he had been engaged, and having been already flayed under his beating; came to a parley and asked for quarter. The hatmless Twemlow profited by the conditions entered into, though he little thought it. Mr. Riah unaccount- ably melted; waited in person on him over the stable-yard in Duke Street, St. Jamess, no lon- ger ravening but mild, to inform him that pay- ment of interest as heretofore, but henceforth at Mr. Lightwoods offices, would appease his Jew- ish rancor; and departed with the secret that Mr. John Harmon had advanced the money and become the creditor. Thus was the sublime Snigsworths wrath averted, and thus did he snort no larger amount of moral grandeur at the Corinthian column in the print over the fire- place, than was normally in his (and the British) constitution. Mrs. Wilfers first visit to the Mendicants bride at the new abode of Mendicancy, was a grand event. Pa had been sent for into the City, on the very day of taking possession, and had been stunned with astonishment, and brought-to, and led about the house by one ear, to behold its various treasures, and had been enraptured and enchanted. Pa had also been appointed Secretary, and had been enjoined to give instant notice of resignation to Chicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles, for ever and ever. But Ma came later, and came, as ivas her due, in state. The carriage was sent for Ma, who entered it with a bearing worthy of the occasion, accom- panied, rather than supported, by Miss Lavinia, who altogether declined to recognize the mater- nal majesty. Mr. George Sampson meekly fol- lowed. He was received in the vehicle, by Mrs. Wilfer, as if admitted to the honor of assisting at a funeral in the family, and she then issued the order, Onward ! to the Mendicants menial. I wish to goodness, Ma, said Lavvy, throw- ing herself back among the cushions, with her arms crossed, that youd loll a little. How I repeated Mrs. Wilfer. Loll! Yes, Ma. I hope, said the impressive lady, I am incapable of it. am sure you look so, Ma. But why one should go out to dine with ones own daughter or sister, as if ones under-petticoat was a back- board, I do aot understand. Neither do I understand, retorted Mrs. Wilfer, with deep scorn, how a young lady can mention the garment in the name of which you have indulged. I blush for you. Thank you, Ma, said Lavvy, yawning, but I can do it for myself~ I am obliged to you, when theres any occasion. Here Mr. Sampson, with the view of estab- lishing harmony, which he never under any cir- cumstances succeeded in doing, said, with an agreeable smile: After all, you know, maam, we know its there. And immediately felt that he had committed himself. We know its there ! said Mrs. Wilfer; glaring. Really, George, remonstrated Miss La- vinia, I must say that I dont understand your allusions, and that I think you might be more delicate and less personal. Go it ! cried Mr. Sampson, becoming, on the shortest notice, a prey to despair. Oh yes! Go it, Miss Lavinia Wilfer! What you may mean, George Sampson, by your omnibus-driving expressions, I can not pre- tend to imagine. Neither, said Miss Lavinia, Mr. George Sampson, do I wish to imagine. It is enough for me to know in my own heart that I am not going to having imprudently got into a sentence without providing a way out of it, Miss Lavinia was constrained to close with going to go it. A weak conclusion, which, however, derived some appearance of strength from disdain. Oh yes ! cried Mr. Sampson, with bitter- ness. Thus it ever is. I never If you mean to say, Miss Lavvy cut hint short, that you never brought up a young ga- zelle, you may save yourself the trouble, because nobody in this carriage supposes that you ever did. We know you better. (As if this ~vere a home-thrust.) Lavinia, returned Mr. Sampson, in a dis- mal vein, I did not mean to say so. What I did mean to say was, that I never expected to retain my favored place in this family after For- tune shed her beams upon it. Whydo you take me, said Mr. Sampson, to the glittering halls with which I can never compete, and then taunt me with my moderate salary? Is it generous? Is it kind ? The stately lady, Mrs. Wilfer, perceiving her opportunity of delivering a few remarks from the throne, here took up the altercation. Mr. Sampson, she began, I can not per- mit you to misrepresent the intentions of a child of mine. Let him alone, Ma, Miss Lavvy interposed OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 167 with haughtiness. It is indifferent to me what he says or does. Nay, Lavinia, quoth Mrs. Wilfer, this touches the blood of the family. If Mr. George Sampson attributes, even to my youngest daugli- ter ( I dont see why you should use the word even, Ma, Miss Lavvy interposed, because I am quite as important as any of the others.) Peace ! said Mrs. Wilfer, solemnly. I repeat, If Mr. George Sampson attributes to my youngest daughter groveling motives, he attrib- utes them equally to the mother of my youngest daughter. That mother repudiates them, and demands of Mr. George Sampson, as a youth of honor, what he would have? I may be mistaken nothing is more likelybut Mr. George Samp- son, proceeded Mrs. Wilfer, majestically wav- ing her gloves, appears to me to be seated in a first-class equipage. Mr. George Sampson ap- pears to me to be on his way, by his own admis- sion,to a residence that may be termed Palatial. Mr. George Sampson appears to me to be invited to participate in theshall I say theElevation which has descended on the family with which he is ambitious, shall I say to Mingle? Whence, then, this tone on Mr. Sampsons part ? It is only, maam, Mr. Sampson explained, in exceedingly low spirits, because, in a pecu- niary sense, I am painfully conscious of my un- worthiness. Lavinia is now highly connected. Can I hope that she will still remain the same Lavinia as of old? And is it not pardonable if I feel sensitive when I see a disposition on her part to take me up short ? If you are not satislled with your position, Sir, observed Miss Lavinia, with much polite- ness, we can set you down at any turning you may please to indicate to my sisters coachman. Dearest Lavinin, urged Mr. Sampson, pa- thetically, I adore you. Then if you cant do it in a more agreeable manner, returned the young lady, I wish you wouldnt. I also, pursued Mr. Sampson, respect you, maam, to an extent which must ever be below your merits, I am well aware, but still up to an uncommon mark. Bear with a wretch, Lavinia, bear with a wretch, maam, who feels the noble sacrifices you make for him, but is goaded almost to madness,Mr. Sampson slapped his forehead, when he thinks of competing with the rich and influential. When you have to compete with the rich and influential it will probably be mentioned to you, said Miss Lavvy, in good time. At least it will if the case is my case. Mr. Sampson immediately expressed his fer- vent opinion that this was more than human, and was brought upon his knees at Miss La- vinias feet. It was the crowning addition indispensable to the full enjoyment of both mother and daughter, to hear Mr. Sampson, a grateful captive, into the glittering halls he had mentioned, and to parade him through the same, at once a living witness of their glory, and a bright instance of their condescension. Ascending the staircase, Miss Lavinia permitted him to walk at her side, with the air of saying: Notwithstanding all these surroundings; I am yours as yet, George. How long it may last is another question, but I am yours as yet. She also benignantly inti- mated to him, aloud, the nature of the objects upon which he looked, and to which he was un- accustomed: as, Exotics, George, . An avi- ary, George, An ormolu clock, George, and the like. While, through the whole Qf the dec- orations, Mrs. Wilfer led the way with the bear- ing of a Savage Chief, who would feel himself compromised by manifesting the slightest token of surprise or admiration. Indeed, the bearing of this impressive woman throughout the day was a pattern to all impress- ive women under similar circumstances. She renewed the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Ilof- fin, as if Mr. and Mrs. Boffin had said of her what she had said of them, and as if Time alone could quite wear her injury out. She regarded every servant who approached her as her sworn enemy, expressly intending to offer her affronts with the dishes, and to pour forth outrages on her moral feelings from the decanters. She sat erect at table, on the right hand of her son-in- law, as halt suspecting poison in the viands, and as bearing up ~vith native force of character against other deadly ambushes. Her carriage toward Bella was as a carriage toward a young lady of good position whom she had met in so- ciety a few years ago. Even when, slightly thawing under the influence of sparkling Chum- pagne, she related to her son-in-law some pas- sages of domestic interest concerning her papa, she infused into the narrative such Arctic sug- gestions of her having been an unappreciated blessing to mankind, since her papas days, and also of that gentlemans having been a frosty im- personation of a frosty race, as struck cold to the stomachs of the hearers. The Inexhaustible being produced, staring, and evidently intending a weak and washy smile shortly, no sooner be- held her than it was stricken spasmodic and in- consolable. When she took her leave at last, it would have been hard to say whetherit was with the air of going to the scaffold herself, or of leaving the inmates of the house for immediate execution. Yet John Harmon enjoyed it all merrily, and told his wife, when he and she were alone, that her natural ways had never seemed so dearly natural as beside this foil, and that although he did not dispute her being her fathers daughter, he should ever remain steadfast in the faith that she could not be her mothers. This visit was, as has been said, a grand event. Another event, not grand, but deemed in the house a special one, occurred at about the same period; and this was the first interview between Mr. Sloppy and Miss Wren. The dolls dress-maker, being at work for the 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Inexhaustible upon a full-dressed doll some two sizes larger than that young person, Mr. Sloppy undertook to call for it, and did so. Come in, Sir, said Miss Wren, who was working at her bench. And who may you be ? Mr. Sloppy introduced himself by name and buttons. Oh, indeed! cried Jenny. Ah! I have been looking forward to knowing you. I heard of your distinguishing yourself. Did you, Miss ? grinned Sloppy. I am sure I am glad to hear it, but I dont know how. Pitching somebody into a mud-cart, said Miss Wren. Oh! That way ! cried Sloppy. Yes, Miss. And threw back his head and laughed. Bless us ! exclaimed Miss Wren, with a start. Dont open your mouth as wide as that, young man, or itll catch so, and not shut again some day. Mr. Sloppy opened it, if possible, wider, and kept it open until his laugh was out. Why, youre like the giant, said Miss Wren, when he came home in the land of Beanstalk, and wanted Jack for supper. Was he good-looking, Miss ? asked Sloppy. No, said Miss Wren. Ugly. Her visitor glanced round the roomwhich had many comforts in it now that had not been in it beforeand said: This is a pretty place, Miss. Glad you think so, Sir, returned Miss Wren. And what do you think of Me ? The honesty of Mr. Sloppy being severely taxed by the question, he twisted a button, grinned, and faltered. Out with it ! said Miss Wren, with an arch look. Dont you think me a queer little com- icality? In shaking her head at him, after asking the question, she shook her hair down. Oh! cried Sloppy, in a burst of admira- tion. What a lot, and what a color ! Miss Wren, with her usual expressive hitch, ~vent on with her work. But left her hair as it ~vas; not displeased by the effect it~had made. You dont live here alone, do you, Miss? asked Sloppy. No, said Miss Wren, with a chop. Live here with my fairy godmother. With Mr. Sloppy couldnt make it out; with who did you say, Miss ? Well! replied Miss Wren, more seriously. With my second father. Or with my first, for that matter. And she shook her head and drew a sigh. If you had known a poor child I used to have here, she added, youd have understood me. But you didnt, and you cant. All the better 1 You must have been taught a long time, said Sloppy, glancing at the array of dolls in hand, before you came to work so neatly, Miss, and with such a pretty taste. Never was taught a stitch, young man ! returned the dress-maker, tossing her head. Just gobbled and gobbled, till I found out how to do it. Badly enough at first, but better now. And here have I, said Sloppy, in some- thing of a self-reproachful tone, been a learn- ing and a learning, and here has Mr. Boffin been a paying and a paying, ever so long ! I have heard what your trade is, observed Miss Wren ; its cabinetmaking. Mr. Sloppy nodded. Now that the Mounds is done with, it is. Ill tell you what, Miss. I should like to make you something. Much obliged. But what ? I could make you, said Sloppy, surveying the room, I could make you a handy set of nests to lay the dolls in. Or I could make you a handy little set of drawers to keep your silks, and threads, and scraps in. Or I could turn you a rare handle for that crutch-stick, if it be. longs to him you call your father. It belongs to me, returned the little creat- ure, with a quick flush of her face and neck. I am lame. Poor Sloppy flushed too, for there was an in- stinctive delicacy behind his buttons, and his own hand had struck it. He said, perhaps, the best thing in the way of amends that could be said. I am very glad its yours, because Id rather ornament it for you than for any one else. Please may I look at it? Miss Wren was in the act of handing it to him over hei bench when she paused. But you had better see me use it, she said, sharply. This is the way. Hoppetty, Kicketty, Pep- peg-peg.~ Not pretty; is it? It seems to me that you hardly want it at all, said Sloppy. The little dress-maker sat down again, and gave it into his hand, saying, with that better look upon her, and with a smile: Thank you ! And as concerning the nests and the draw- ers, said Sloppy, after measuring the handle on his sleeve, and softly standing the stick aside against the wall, why, it ~vould be a real pleas- ure to me. Ive heerd tell that you can sing most beautiful; and I should ha better paid with a song than with any money; for I always loved the likes of that, and often giv Mrs. Rig- den and Johnny a comic song myself, with Spoken in it. Though thats not your sort, Ill wager. You are a very kind young man, returned the dress-maker; a really kind young man. I accept your offer.I suppose He ~vont mind, she added as an after-thought, shrugging her shoulders; and if he does he may ! Meaning him that you call your father, Miss ? asked Sloppy. No, no, replied Miss Wren. Him, Him, Him! Him, him, him ? repeated Sloppy, staring about, as if for Him. Him who is coming to court and marry me, returned Miss Wren. Dear me, how slow you arc ! OUR MUTUAL FRIF2~D. 109 Oh! Him ! said Sloppy. And seemed to turn thoughtful and a little troubled. I never thought of him. When is he coming, Miss ? What a question ! cried Miss Wren. How should I know ! Where is he coming from, Miss ? Why, good gracious, how can I tell! He is coming from somewhere or other, I suppose, and he is coming some day or other, I suppose. I dont know any more about him at present. This tickled Mr. Sloppy as an extraordinarily good joke, and he threw back his head and laughed with measureless enjoyment. At the sight of him laughing in that absurd way the dolls dress-maker laughed very heartily indeed. So they both laughed till they were tired. There, there, there ! said Miss Wren. For goodness sake stop, Giant, or I shall be swallowed up alive before I know it. And to this minute you havent said what youve come for. I have come for little Miss Harmonses doll, said Sloppy. I thought as much, remarked Miss Wren, and here is little Miss Harmonses doll wait- ing for you. Shes folded up in silver paper, you see, as if she was wrapped from head to foot in new Bank - notes. Take care of her, and theres my hand, and thank yon again. Ill take more care of her than if she was a gold image, said Sloppy, and theres both ~ny hands, Miss, and Ill soon come back again. But the greatest event of all, in the new life of Mr. and Mrs. John Harmon, was a ~~isit from Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Wrayburn. Sadly wan and worn was the once gallant Eugene, and walked resting on his wifes arm, and leaning heavily upon a stick. But he was daily grow- ing stronger and better, and it was declared by the medical attendants that he might not be much disfigured by-and-by. It was a grand event, indeed, when Mr.and Mrs. Eugene Wray- burn came to stay at Mr. and Mrs. John Har- mons house: where, by-the-way, Mr. and Mrs. Boffin (exquisitely happy, and daily cruising about to look at shops) were likewise staying indefinitely. To Mr. Eugene Wrayburn, in confidence, did Mrs. John Harmon impart what she had known of the state of his wifes affections, in his reck- less time. And to Mrs. John Harmon, in con- fidence, did Mr. Eugene Wrayburn impart that, please God, she should see how his wife had changed him! I make no protestations, said Eugene; who does, who means them !I have made a resolution. But would you believe, Bella, interposed his wife, coming to resume her nurses place at his side, for he never got on well without her: that on our wedding-day he told me he almost thought the best thing he could do was to die ? As I didnt do it, Lizzie, said Eugene, Ill do thatbetterthing yousuggestedfor yoursake. That same afternoon, Eugene lying on his couch in his own room up stairs, Lightwood came to chat with him, while Bella took his wife out for a ride. Nothing short of force will make her go, Eugene had said; so, Bella had playfully forced her. Dear old fellow, Eugene began with Light- wood, reaching np his hand, you couldnt have come at a better time, for my mind is full, and I want to empty it. First, of my present, before I touch upon my future. M. R. F., who is a much younger cavalier than I, and a professed admirer of beauty, was so affable as to remark the other day (he paid us a visit of two days up the river there, and much objected to the ac- commodation of the hotel), that Lizzie ought to have her portrait painted. Which, coming from M. B. F., may be considered equivalent to a melodramatic blessing. You are getting well, said Mortimer, with a smile. Really, said Eugene, I mean it. When M. R. F. said that, and followed it up by roll- ing the claret (for which he called, and I paid) in his mouth, and saying, My dear son, why do you drink this trash? it was tantamount in himto a paternal benediction on our union, accompanied with a gush of tears. The cool- ness of M. B. F. is not to be measured by ordi- nary standards. True enough, said Lightwood. Thats all, pursued Eugene, that I shall ever hear from M. B. F. on the subject, and he will continue to saunter through the world with his hat on one side. My marriage being thus solemnly recognized at the family altar, I have no further trouble on that score. Next, you really have done wonders for me, Mortimer, in easing my money-perplexities, and with such a guardian and steward beside me, as the preserv- er of my life (I am hardly strong yet, you see, for I am not man enough to refer to her without a trembling voiceshe is so inexpressibly d~ar to me, Mortimer!), the little that I can calLmy own will be more than it ever has been. It need be more, for you know what it always has been in my hands. Nothing. Worse than nothing, I fancy, Eugene. My own small income (I devoutly wish that my grandfather had left it to the Ocean rather than to me!) has been an effective Something, in the way of preventing me from turning to at Any thing. And I think yours has been much the same. There spake the voice of wisdom, said Eugene. XVe are shepherds both. In turn- ing to at last, we turn to in earnest. Let ns say no more of that, for a few years to come. Now, I have had an idea, Mortimer, of taking myself and my wife to one of the colonies, and working out my vocation there. I should be lost without you, Eugene; but you may be right. No, said Eugene, emphatically. Not right. Wrong. 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. He said it with such a livelyalmost angry flash, that Mortimer showed himself greatly surprised. You think this thumped head of mine is excited? Eugene went on, with a high look; not so, believe me. I can say to you of the healthful music of my pulse what Hamlet said of his. My blood is up, but wholesomely up, when I think of it. Tell me! Shall I turn coward to Lizzie, and sneak away with her, as if I were ashamed of her! Where would your friends part in this world be, Mortimer, if she had turned coward to him, and on immeasurably better occasion ? Honorable and stanch, said Lightwood. And yet, Eugene And yet what, Mortimer? And yet, are you sure that you might not feel (for her sake, I say for her sake) any slight coldness toward her on the part ofSociety ? Oh! You and I may well stumble at the word, returned Eugene, laughing. Do we mean our Tippins I Perhapswedo, saidMortimer, laughingalso. Faith,we DO I returned Eugene, with great animation. We may hide behind the bush and beat about it, but we no! Now, my wife is something nearer to my heart, Mortimer, than Tippins is, and I owe her a little more than I owe to Tippins, and I am rather prouder of her than I ever was of Ti~pins. Therefore, I will fight it out to the last gasp, with her and for her, here, in the open field, When I hide her, or strike for her, faint-heartedly, ia a hole or a corner, do you, whom I love next best upon earth, tell me what I shall most righteously de- serve to be told :that she would have done well to turn me over with her foot that night when I lay bleeding to death, and spat ia my dastard face. The glow that shone upon him as he spoke the words so irradiated his features that he look- ed, for the time, as though he had never been mutilated. His friend responded as Eugene would have had him respond, and they dis- coursed of the future until Lizzie came back. After resuming her place at his side, and ten- derly touching his hands and his head, she said: Eugene, dear, you made me go out, but I ought to have staid with you. You are more flushed than you have been for many days. What have you been doing I Nothing, replied Eugene, but looking for- ward to your coming back. And talking to Mr. Lightwood, said Liz- zie, turning to him with a smile. But it can not have been Society that disturbed you. Faith, my dear love ! retorted Eugene, in his old airy manner, as he laughed and kissed her, I rather think it was Society, though ! The word ran so much in Mortimer Light- woods thoughts as he went home to the Temple that night, that he resolved to take a look at Society, which he had not seen for a consider- able period. CHAPTER THE LAST. THE VOICE OF SOCIETY. BEHoovEs Mortimer Lightwood, therefore, to answer a dinner card from Mr. and Mrs.Veneer- ing requesting the honor, and to signify that Mr. Mortimer Lightwood will be happy to have the other honor. The Veneerings have been, as usual, indefatigably dealing, dinner cards to So- ciety, and whoever desires to take a hand had best be quick about it, for it is written in the Books of the Insolvent Fates that Veneering shall make a resounding smash next week. Yes. Having found out the clew to that great mystery how. people can contrive to live beyond their means, and having over-jobbed his jobber- ies as legislator deputed to the Universe by the pure electors of Pocket Breeches, it shall come to pass next week that Veneering will accept the Chiltern Hundreds, that the legal gentle- man in Britannias confidence will again accept the Pocket Breeches Thousands, and that the Veneerings will retire to Calais, there to live on Mrs. Veneerings diamonds (in which Mr. Ve- neering, as a goo.l husband, has from time to time invested considerable sums), and to relate to Neptnne and others, how that, before Ve- neering retired from Parliament, the House of Commons was composed of himself and the six hundred and fifty-seven dearest and oldest friends he had in the world. It shall likewise come to pass, at as nearly as possible the same period, that Society will discover that it always did despise Venoering, and distrust Veneering, and that when it went to Veneerings to dinner it always had misgivingsthough very secretly at the time, it would seem, and in a perfectly private and confidential manner. The next weeks books of the Insolvent Fates, however, being not yet opened, there is the usu- al rush to the Veneerings, of the people who go to their house to dine with one another and not with them. There is Lady Tippins. There are Podsnap the Great and Mrs. Podsnap. There is Twemlow. There are Buffer, Boots, and Brew- er, There is the Contractor, who is ~rovidence to five, hundred thousand men.. There is the Chairman, traveling three thousand miles per week. There is the brilliant genius who turned the shares into that remarkably exact suni of three hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds, no shillings, and no pence. To whom add Mortimer Lightwood, coming in among them with a reassumption of his old languid air, founded on Eugene, and belonging to the days when he told the story of the man from Somewhere. That fresh fairy, Tippins, all but screams at sight of her false swain. She summons the de- serter to her with her fan; but the deserter, pre- determined not to come, talks Britain with Pod- snap. Podsnap always talks Britain, and talks as if he were a sort of Private Watchman em- ployed, in the British interests, against the rest of the world. We know what Russia means, OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 111 Sir, says Podanap; we know what France wants; we see what America is up to; but we know what England is. Thats enough for us. However, when dinner is served, and Light- wood drops into his old place over against Lady Tippins, she can be fended off no longer. Long banished Robinson Crusoe, says the charmer, exchanging salutations, how did you leave thc Island ? Thank you, says Lightwood. It made no complaint of being in pain any where. Say, how did you leave the savages ? asks Lady Tippins. They were becoming civilized when I left JnanFernandez,saysLightwood. At least they were eating one another, which looked like it. Tormentor ! returns the dear young creat- ure. You know what I mean, and you trifle with my impatience. Tell me something, im- mediately, about the married pair. You were at the wedding. Was I, by-the-by ? Mortimer pretends, at great leisure, to consider. So I was ! How was the bride dressed? In rowing cos- tume ? Mortimer looks gloomy, and declines to an- siver. I hope she steered herself, skiffed herself, paddled herself, larboarded and starboarded her- self, or whatever the technical term is, to the ceremony ? continues the playful Tippins. However she got to it she graced it, says Mortimer. Lady Tippins with a skittish little scream at- tracts the general attention. Graced it! Take care of me if I faint, Veneering. He means to tell us that a horrid female waterman is grace- ful! Pardon me. I mean to tell you nothing, Lady Tippins, replies Lightwood. And keeps his word by eating his dinner with a show of the utmost indifference. You shall not escape me in this way, you morose backwoods-man, retorts Lady Tippins. You shall not evade the question, to screen your friend Eugene who has made this ~xhibi- tion of himself. The knowledge shall be brought home to you that such a ridiculous affair is con- demned by the voice of Society. My dear Mrs. Veneering, do let us resolve ourselves into a Committee of the whole House on the subject. Mrs. Veneering, always charmed by this rat- tling sylph, cries: Oh yes! Do let us resolve ourselves into a Committee of the whole House! So delicious ! Veneering says, As many as are of that opinion, say Ayecontrary, Nothe Ayes have it. But nobody takes the slightest notice of his joke. Now, I am Chairwoman of Committees! cries Lady Tippins. (What spirits she has ! exclaims Mrs. Ve- neering; to whom likewise nobody attends.) And this, pursues the sprightly one, is a Committee of the whole House to what-you-may- call-itelicit, I supposethe voice of Society. The question before the Committee is, whether a young man of very fair family, good appear- ance, and some talent, makes a fool or a wise man of himself in marrying a female waterman, turned factory girl. Hardly so, I think, the stubborn Mortimer strikes in. I take the question to be, whether such a man as you describe, Lady Tippins, dogs right or wrong in marrying a brave wcrnan (I say nothing of her beauty), who has saved his life, with a wonderful energy and address; whom he knows to be virtuous and possessed. of re- markable qualities; whom he has long admired, and who is deeply attached to him. But, excuse me, says Podsnap, with his temper and his shirt-collar about equally rum- pled; was this young woman ever a female waterman ? Never. But she sometimes rowed in a beat with her father, I believe. General sensation against the young woman. Brewer shakes his head. Boots shakes his bead. Buffer shakes his head. And now, Mr. Lightwood, was she ever, pursues Podsnap, with Isis indignation rising high into those hair-brushes of his, a factory girl ? Never. But she had some employment in a paper mill, I believe. General sensation repeated. Brewer says, Oh dear ! Boots says, Oh dear ! Buffer says, Ohdeaz! All, ma rumbling tone of protest Then all I have to say is, returns Podsnap, putting the thing away with his right arm, that my gorge rises against such a marriagethat it offends and disgusts methat it makes me sick and that I desire to know no more about it. (Now I wonder, thinks Mortimer, amused, whether you are the voice of Society !) Hear, hear, hear ! cries Lady Tippins. Your opinion of this ?nf!saiiance, honorable colleague of the honorable member who has just sat down ? Mrs. Podanap is of opinion that in these mat- ters there should be an equt~lity of station and fortune, and that a man accustomed to Society should look out for a woman accustomed to So- ciety and capable of bearing her part in it with an ease and elegance of cjsrriagethat-.- Mrs. Podsnap stops there, delicately intimating that every such man should look out for a fine woman as nearly resembling herself as he may hope to discover. (Now I wonder, thinks Mortimer, wheth- er you are the Voice !) Lady Tippins next canvasses the Contractor, of five hundred thousand power. It appears to this potentate, that what the man in question should have done, would have been, to buy the young woman a boat and a small annuity, ~nd set her up for herself. These things are a ques- tion of beef-steaks and porter. You buy the young woman a boat. Very good. You buy her, at the same time, a small annuity. You speak of that annuity in .pounds sterling, but it is in reality so many pounds of beef-st~ks a~sdso 112 .HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. many pints of porter. On the one hand, the young woman has the boat. On the other hand, she consumes so many pounds of beef-steaks and so many pints of porter. Those beef-steaks and that porter are the fuel to that young woman s engine. She derives therefrom a certain amount of power to row the boat; that power will pro- duce so much money; and thus you get at the young woman~s income. That (it seems to the Contractor) is the way of looking at it. The fair enslaver having fallen into one of her gentle sleeps during this last exposition, nobody likes to wake her. Fortunately, she comes awake of herself, and puts the question to the Wander- ing Chairman. The Wanderer can only speak of the case as if it were his own. If such a young woman as the young woman described, had saved his own life, he would have been very much obliged to her, wouldnt have married her, and would have got her a berth in an Electric Telegraph Office, where young women answer very well. What does the Genius of the three hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds, no shillings, and no pence, think? He cant say what he thinks, without ~isking: H ad the young woman any money? No, says Lightwood, in an uncompromis- ing voice; no money. Madness and moonshine, is then the com- pressed verdict of the Genius. A man may do any thing lawful, for money. But for no money ?Bosh ! What does Boots say? Boots says he wouldnt have done it nuder twenty thousand pound. What does Brewer say? Brewer says what Boots says. What does Buffer say. Buffer says he knows a man who married a bathing-woman, and bolted. Lady Tippins fancies she has collected the suf- frages of the whole Committee (nobody dream- ing of asking the Veneerings for their opinion), when, looking round the table through her eye- glass, she perceives Mr. Twemlo~v with his hand to his forehead. Good gracious! My Twemlow forgotten! My dearest! My own! What is his vote? Twemlow has the air of being ill at ease, as he takes his hand from his forehead and replies. I am disposed to think, says he, that this is a question of the feelings of a gentleman. A gentleman can have no feelings who con- tracts such a marriage, flushes Podsnap. Pardon me, Sir, says Twemlow, rather less mildly than usual, I dont agree with you. If this gentlemans feelings of gratitude, of respect, of admiration, and affection, induced him (as I presume they did) to marry this lady This lady ! echoes Podsnap. Sir, returns Twemlow, with his wristbands bristling a little, you repeat the word; I repeat the word. This lady. What else would you call her if the gentleman were present ? This being something in the nature of a poser for Podsnap, he merely waves it away with a speechless wave. I say, resumes Twemlow, if such feelings on the part of this gentleman induced this gen- tleman to marry this lady, I think he is the greater gentleman for the action, and makes her the greater lady. I beg to say, that when I use the word gentleman, I use it in the sense in which the degree may be attained by any man. The feelings of a gentleman I hold sacred, and I confess I am not comfortable when they are made the subject of sport or general discussion. I should like to know, sneers Podsnap, whether your noble relation u wild be of your opinion. Mr. Podsnap, retorts Twemlow, permit me. He might be, or he might not be. I can not say. But I could not allow even him to dic- tate to me on a point of great delicacy, on which I feel very strongly. Somehow a canopy of wet blanket seems to descend upon the company, and Lady Tippins was never known to turn so very greedy or so very cross. Mortimer Lightwood alone bright- ens. He has been asking himself, as to every other member of the Committee in turn, I wonder whether you are the Voice ! But he does not ask himself the question after Twemlow has spoken, and he glances in Twemlows direc- tion as if he were grateful. When the company disperseby which time Mr. and Mrs. Veneer- ing have had quite as much as they want cif the honor, and the guests have had quite as much as they want of the other honorMortimer sees Twemlow home, shakes hands with him cordial- ly at parting, and fares to the Temple, gayly. POSTSCRIPT, IN LIEU OF PREFACE. WHEN I devised this story, I foresaw the like- lihood that a class of readers and commentators would ~uppose that I was at great pains to con- ceal exactly what I was at great. pains to sug- gest: namely, that Mr. John Harmon was not slain, and that Mr. John Rokesmith was he. Pleasing myself with the idea that the supposi- tion might in part arise out of some ingenuity in the story, and thinking it worth while, in the interests of art, to hint to an ~tudience that an artist (of whatever denomination) may perhaps be trusted to know what he is about in his voca- tion, if they will concede him a little patience, I was not alarmed by the anticipatiQn. To keep for a long time nususpected, yet al- ways working itself out, another purpose origin- ating in that leading incident, and turning it to a pleasant and useful account at last, was at once the most interesting and the most difficult part of my design. Its difficulty was muck en- hanced by the mode of publication; for it would be very unreasonable to expect that many read- AT CHRISTMAS TIME. 11~3 ers, pursuing a story in portions from month to month through nineteen months, will, until they have it before them complete, perceive the rela- tions of its finer threads to the whole pattern which is always before the eyes of the story- weaver at his loom. Yet, that I hold the ad- vantages of the mode of l)ublication to outweigh its disadvantages, may be easily believed of one who revived it in the Pickwick Papers after long disuse, and has pursued it ever since. There is sometimes an odd disposition in this country to dispute as improbable in fiction what are the commonest experiences in fact. There- fore I note here, though it may not be at all necessary, that there are hundreds of Will Cases (as they are called) far more remarkable than that fancied in this book; and that the stores of the Prerogative Office teem with instances of testators who have made, changed, contradicted, hidden, forgotten, left canceled, and left un- canceled, each many more wills than were ever made by the elder Mr. Harmon of Harmony Jail. In my social experience, since Mrs. Betty Hig- den came upon the scene and left it, I have found Circumlocutional authorities disposed to he ~varm with me on the subject of my view of the Poor Law. My friend Mr. Bounderby could never see any difference between leaving the Coketown hands exactly as they were, and requiring them to be fed with turtle soup and venison out of gold spoons. Idiotic propositions of a par- allel nature have been freely offered for my ac- ceptance, and I have been called upon to admit that I would give Poor Law relief to any body, any where, any how. Putting this nonsense aside, I have observed a suspicious tendency in the various authorities to divide into two parties; the one contending that there are no deserving Poor who prefer death by slow starvation and bitter weather to the mercies of some Relieving Officers and some Union houses: the other ad- mitting that there are such Poor, but denying that they have any cause or reason for what they do. The records in our newspapers, the late ex- posure by THE LANCET, and the common sense and senses of common people, furnish too abund- ant evidence against both defenses. But that my view of the Poor Law may not be mistaken or misrel)resented, I will state it. I believe there has been in England, since the days of the STUARTS, no law so often infamously adminis- tered, no law so often openly violated, no law habitually so ill-supervised. In the majority of the shameful cases of disease and death from destitution that shock the Public and disgrace the country, the illegality is quite equal to the inhumanityand known language could say no more of their lawlessness. On Friday the Ninth of June, in the present year, Mr. and Mrs. Boffin (in their manuscript dress of receiving Mr. and Mrs. Lammle at break- fast) were on the Southeastern Railway with me in a terribly destructive accident. When I had done what I could to help others, I climbed back into my carriagenearly turned over a viaduct, and caught aslant upon the turnto extricate the worthy couple. They were much soiled, but otherwise unhurt. The same happy result at- tended Miss Bella Wilfer on her ~vedding-day, and Mr. Riderhood inspecting Bradley Head- stones red neckerchief as he lay asleep. I re- member with devout thankfulness that 1 can never be nearer parting company with my read- ers forever than I was then, until there shall be written against my life the two words with which I have this day closed this bookTH~ END. September 2, 1865. AT CHRISTMAS TIME. TO-NIGHT we gather round the hearth While now the Christmas time is near, The time we keep with song and mirth, With noisy games and festal cheer. Not quite twelve fleeting months have passed, With rapid changes, through a year Of shifting light and shade, since last We kept our merry Christmas here. Then Wars fierce clarion sounded loud, And faces that we see to-night, Once veiled within the battles cloud, Shone in the camp-fires lurid light. And others, whom, no more we see, Lie silent in Deaths dreamless sleep, Nor shocks of ages yet to be Shall vex their slumbers long and deep. To them we fill our glasses high, We pledge theta through all future years, To them we drain the goblet dry In spite of rising wells of tears. VOL. XXXII.No. 187.H What tears for them ?let sorrow cease For those who know not grief or care; Theirs is a deeper, holier peace They breathe a calmer, purer air! Long ages since the dawn of day, Gilding the edges of the morn, Looked in athwart the gloom where lay The Christ-child of the Virgin born. And high oer Bethlehems halls and towers, Through the long watches of the night, Crowning the dark and silent hours, One pale star shone with mystic light. Oh happy morn, whose dawning gave Hope to a lost and sinful race, Thy influence reaches past the grave, On through remotest time and space! Ring bells of cheer, ring in the day When cruel wrong at last shall cease; When feud and hate shall pass away, And bring the reign of Love and Peace!

N. G. Shepherd Shepherd, N. G. At Christmas Time 113-114

AT CHRISTMAS TIME. 11~3 ers, pursuing a story in portions from month to month through nineteen months, will, until they have it before them complete, perceive the rela- tions of its finer threads to the whole pattern which is always before the eyes of the story- weaver at his loom. Yet, that I hold the ad- vantages of the mode of l)ublication to outweigh its disadvantages, may be easily believed of one who revived it in the Pickwick Papers after long disuse, and has pursued it ever since. There is sometimes an odd disposition in this country to dispute as improbable in fiction what are the commonest experiences in fact. There- fore I note here, though it may not be at all necessary, that there are hundreds of Will Cases (as they are called) far more remarkable than that fancied in this book; and that the stores of the Prerogative Office teem with instances of testators who have made, changed, contradicted, hidden, forgotten, left canceled, and left un- canceled, each many more wills than were ever made by the elder Mr. Harmon of Harmony Jail. In my social experience, since Mrs. Betty Hig- den came upon the scene and left it, I have found Circumlocutional authorities disposed to he ~varm with me on the subject of my view of the Poor Law. My friend Mr. Bounderby could never see any difference between leaving the Coketown hands exactly as they were, and requiring them to be fed with turtle soup and venison out of gold spoons. Idiotic propositions of a par- allel nature have been freely offered for my ac- ceptance, and I have been called upon to admit that I would give Poor Law relief to any body, any where, any how. Putting this nonsense aside, I have observed a suspicious tendency in the various authorities to divide into two parties; the one contending that there are no deserving Poor who prefer death by slow starvation and bitter weather to the mercies of some Relieving Officers and some Union houses: the other ad- mitting that there are such Poor, but denying that they have any cause or reason for what they do. The records in our newspapers, the late ex- posure by THE LANCET, and the common sense and senses of common people, furnish too abund- ant evidence against both defenses. But that my view of the Poor Law may not be mistaken or misrel)resented, I will state it. I believe there has been in England, since the days of the STUARTS, no law so often infamously adminis- tered, no law so often openly violated, no law habitually so ill-supervised. In the majority of the shameful cases of disease and death from destitution that shock the Public and disgrace the country, the illegality is quite equal to the inhumanityand known language could say no more of their lawlessness. On Friday the Ninth of June, in the present year, Mr. and Mrs. Boffin (in their manuscript dress of receiving Mr. and Mrs. Lammle at break- fast) were on the Southeastern Railway with me in a terribly destructive accident. When I had done what I could to help others, I climbed back into my carriagenearly turned over a viaduct, and caught aslant upon the turnto extricate the worthy couple. They were much soiled, but otherwise unhurt. The same happy result at- tended Miss Bella Wilfer on her ~vedding-day, and Mr. Riderhood inspecting Bradley Head- stones red neckerchief as he lay asleep. I re- member with devout thankfulness that 1 can never be nearer parting company with my read- ers forever than I was then, until there shall be written against my life the two words with which I have this day closed this bookTH~ END. September 2, 1865. AT CHRISTMAS TIME. TO-NIGHT we gather round the hearth While now the Christmas time is near, The time we keep with song and mirth, With noisy games and festal cheer. Not quite twelve fleeting months have passed, With rapid changes, through a year Of shifting light and shade, since last We kept our merry Christmas here. Then Wars fierce clarion sounded loud, And faces that we see to-night, Once veiled within the battles cloud, Shone in the camp-fires lurid light. And others, whom, no more we see, Lie silent in Deaths dreamless sleep, Nor shocks of ages yet to be Shall vex their slumbers long and deep. To them we fill our glasses high, We pledge theta through all future years, To them we drain the goblet dry In spite of rising wells of tears. VOL. XXXII.No. 187.H What tears for them ?let sorrow cease For those who know not grief or care; Theirs is a deeper, holier peace They breathe a calmer, purer air! Long ages since the dawn of day, Gilding the edges of the morn, Looked in athwart the gloom where lay The Christ-child of the Virgin born. And high oer Bethlehems halls and towers, Through the long watches of the night, Crowning the dark and silent hours, One pale star shone with mystic light. Oh happy morn, whose dawning gave Hope to a lost and sinful race, Thy influence reaches past the grave, On through remotest time and space! Ring bells of cheer, ring in the day When cruel wrong at last shall cease; When feud and hate shall pass away, And bring the reign of Love and Peace! 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A VILLAGE IN MASSACHUSETTS. UR authority for so denominating a famous cit is derived from one of those pert and peripatetic oraclesthe news-boys. A gentle- man (who waxed suddenly indignant), whose sur- tout, bandana handkerchief, visage, and bear- ing declared him an old-school recipient of the moral sense of the community, inquired of one of those varlets, who rushed on to the crowd- ed piazza of a fashionable watering-place hotel, vociferating, Heres the Erald, Times, and Trib- une .~ if he had a copy of the Boston Journal? Dont sell village papers, Siree! was the reply. It was named Boston in honor of John Cot- ton, minister of St. Butolphs, at Boston, in Lin- colnshire, England, where the descendants of some of the original emigrants may still read their ancestral name on the old grave-stones. But other appellatives more significantly desig- nate the place; such as the Cradle of Liber- ty, because there the people, by word and deed, initiated the ~var of American Independence; the Athens of America, so called in token of literary pre-eminence and social culture; the City of Notions, because of a normal propen- sity of the inhabitants to magnify and reiterate an idea, enterprise, or local fact with exclusive emphasissuch as the introduction of ~vater from a neighboring pond, the advent of an emi- nent foreigner, a special reform, a personal scan- dal, the demise of a prominent citizen, a critical controversy, or the great organ at the Music hall. The last of these facetious titles, bestowed1 by a medical wit, is Huh of the Universe, in allusion to the provincial complacency of the people. In a physical sense the Hub, whence ra- diate the spokes of so ninny railways, is not a favorable point of the wheel of life for the pres- ervation of original character, since the crowds of social aspirants thus drawn to the centre, add- ed to the perpetual influx of Celts from beyond the sea, have overlaid the Boston dear to octo- genarians, and neutralized all the traits and most of the aspects that individualize the mem- ory of the town even thirty years ago. Munic- ipal, Insurance, and Banking offices are rarely occupied by natives; the original head-quarters of liberal Protestantism in America are inhab- ited by a Roman Catholic majority; from the old and quaintly picturesque streets more osten- tatious dwellings have spread into the Back Bay; churches are transplanted thither; tall massive blocks of stores fill avenues where the homes of the Bostonians once shed the warm glow of the domestic hearth on snow-clad, quiet paths, sacred to pleasant neighbors and playful boys, now choked up with barrels, bales, and boxes. The Hancock Houseancient shrine of hospi- tality and patriotismhas disappeared, and even the old corner is no longer the trysting-place of literati; Pearl, Summer, and Franklin streets are given up to traffic; and the old families, whose domiciles once clustered there in modest comfort, have migiated or passed away. The old-fashioned niansions, indeed, do not suffer by comparison wiih the loftier dwellings which have superseded them, at least to the eye of conservaiive taste. The wide front yards with fine shade-trees and a flagged walk from the gate to the front-door, with its broad thresh- old and glistening brass knockerthe spacious paneled ball and wide, easy staircase with elab- orate halustersthe parlor with its low ceiling and cross-beam, its turkey carpet, large .mahcg- any side-board, hospitable punch-bowl or silver flagon, and cut-glass decantersthe deep-cush- ioned windo~v-seats, snug and sunnythe fain- ilv portraits by Stuart or Copley, the daintily- worked screen, the massive and shining audi- runs and genial wood-fire gleaming on Scripture tilesall unite to form a picture in fond mem- ories beside which the more convenient econo- mies and more showy but far less cozy domestic arrangements of the present day, seem coldly elegant. rhe returned native threads his unsaluted way through strange, and by no means gentle crowds, looking in vain for familiar faces. Many of the best people of the town of his youth are banished to the suburbs or lost in the throng; nov and then he recognizes a well-known figure apparently as much out of l)lace as himself. The conrteous gentleman whose bow was a benedic- tion, the venerable merchant whose word was a bond, the man of letters whose criticism was de- cisive, the f iii woman ~vhose beauty was a pride and pleasure to allthese dominant social ele- ments are no more; nor are others substituted therefor; for the population is too large, too heterogeneous, and too busy to allow of perva- sive individualities or a sociam nucleus around ~vhicb lore and ~visdom harmoniously crystallize. Cars filled with all kinds of folks usurp the thoroughfares; where the juveniles used to skate, is a public garden; English steam-packets land hundreds of passengers weekly at the docks. The old landmarks are rapidly disappearing, the old customs foregone, the old names forgotten; but strangers are still specially invited to pews, and when any eminent person dies his charac- ter is duly analyzed by the Historical Society and the Daily Advertiser. Settled in 1640 by English emigrants, Boston long maintained a literary as ~vell as civic in- dividuality. In the old town records is the chirography of John Winthrop. That chronicle indicates weary vicissitudes of famine and In- dian attacks, ecclesiastical tyranny and social despotism. The declivities on which the city is built have historical traditions; the winding and hilly streets mark the ancient cow-paths. There is the Province House, denuded of its dignity, long the scene of colonial rule; the church where Franklin was baptized; the old elm under which he played, the site of the chandlers shop where, at the sign of the blue- ball, his father worked, and the grave where the ashes of both his parents rest. There is Faneuil Hall, where for a century has echoed the elo- quence of freemen; the adjacent University

Henry T. Tuckerman Tuckerman, Henry T. A Village in Massachusetts 114-119

114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A VILLAGE IN MASSACHUSETTS. UR authority for so denominating a famous cit is derived from one of those pert and peripatetic oraclesthe news-boys. A gentle- man (who waxed suddenly indignant), whose sur- tout, bandana handkerchief, visage, and bear- ing declared him an old-school recipient of the moral sense of the community, inquired of one of those varlets, who rushed on to the crowd- ed piazza of a fashionable watering-place hotel, vociferating, Heres the Erald, Times, and Trib- une .~ if he had a copy of the Boston Journal? Dont sell village papers, Siree! was the reply. It was named Boston in honor of John Cot- ton, minister of St. Butolphs, at Boston, in Lin- colnshire, England, where the descendants of some of the original emigrants may still read their ancestral name on the old grave-stones. But other appellatives more significantly desig- nate the place; such as the Cradle of Liber- ty, because there the people, by word and deed, initiated the ~var of American Independence; the Athens of America, so called in token of literary pre-eminence and social culture; the City of Notions, because of a normal propen- sity of the inhabitants to magnify and reiterate an idea, enterprise, or local fact with exclusive emphasissuch as the introduction of ~vater from a neighboring pond, the advent of an emi- nent foreigner, a special reform, a personal scan- dal, the demise of a prominent citizen, a critical controversy, or the great organ at the Music hall. The last of these facetious titles, bestowed1 by a medical wit, is Huh of the Universe, in allusion to the provincial complacency of the people. In a physical sense the Hub, whence ra- diate the spokes of so ninny railways, is not a favorable point of the wheel of life for the pres- ervation of original character, since the crowds of social aspirants thus drawn to the centre, add- ed to the perpetual influx of Celts from beyond the sea, have overlaid the Boston dear to octo- genarians, and neutralized all the traits and most of the aspects that individualize the mem- ory of the town even thirty years ago. Munic- ipal, Insurance, and Banking offices are rarely occupied by natives; the original head-quarters of liberal Protestantism in America are inhab- ited by a Roman Catholic majority; from the old and quaintly picturesque streets more osten- tatious dwellings have spread into the Back Bay; churches are transplanted thither; tall massive blocks of stores fill avenues where the homes of the Bostonians once shed the warm glow of the domestic hearth on snow-clad, quiet paths, sacred to pleasant neighbors and playful boys, now choked up with barrels, bales, and boxes. The Hancock Houseancient shrine of hospi- tality and patriotismhas disappeared, and even the old corner is no longer the trysting-place of literati; Pearl, Summer, and Franklin streets are given up to traffic; and the old families, whose domiciles once clustered there in modest comfort, have migiated or passed away. The old-fashioned niansions, indeed, do not suffer by comparison wiih the loftier dwellings which have superseded them, at least to the eye of conservaiive taste. The wide front yards with fine shade-trees and a flagged walk from the gate to the front-door, with its broad thresh- old and glistening brass knockerthe spacious paneled ball and wide, easy staircase with elab- orate halustersthe parlor with its low ceiling and cross-beam, its turkey carpet, large .mahcg- any side-board, hospitable punch-bowl or silver flagon, and cut-glass decantersthe deep-cush- ioned windo~v-seats, snug and sunnythe fain- ilv portraits by Stuart or Copley, the daintily- worked screen, the massive and shining audi- runs and genial wood-fire gleaming on Scripture tilesall unite to form a picture in fond mem- ories beside which the more convenient econo- mies and more showy but far less cozy domestic arrangements of the present day, seem coldly elegant. rhe returned native threads his unsaluted way through strange, and by no means gentle crowds, looking in vain for familiar faces. Many of the best people of the town of his youth are banished to the suburbs or lost in the throng; nov and then he recognizes a well-known figure apparently as much out of l)lace as himself. The conrteous gentleman whose bow was a benedic- tion, the venerable merchant whose word was a bond, the man of letters whose criticism was de- cisive, the f iii woman ~vhose beauty was a pride and pleasure to allthese dominant social ele- ments are no more; nor are others substituted therefor; for the population is too large, too heterogeneous, and too busy to allow of perva- sive individualities or a sociam nucleus around ~vhicb lore and ~visdom harmoniously crystallize. Cars filled with all kinds of folks usurp the thoroughfares; where the juveniles used to skate, is a public garden; English steam-packets land hundreds of passengers weekly at the docks. The old landmarks are rapidly disappearing, the old customs foregone, the old names forgotten; but strangers are still specially invited to pews, and when any eminent person dies his charac- ter is duly analyzed by the Historical Society and the Daily Advertiser. Settled in 1640 by English emigrants, Boston long maintained a literary as ~vell as civic in- dividuality. In the old town records is the chirography of John Winthrop. That chronicle indicates weary vicissitudes of famine and In- dian attacks, ecclesiastical tyranny and social despotism. The declivities on which the city is built have historical traditions; the winding and hilly streets mark the ancient cow-paths. There is the Province House, denuded of its dignity, long the scene of colonial rule; the church where Franklin was baptized; the old elm under which he played, the site of the chandlers shop where, at the sign of the blue- ball, his father worked, and the grave where the ashes of both his parents rest. There is Faneuil Hall, where for a century has echoed the elo- quence of freemen; the adjacent University A VILLAGE IN MASSACHUSETTS. 115 founded in the infancy of the colony, an(l near thrive. Tudor thence exported ice to the East by the noble statue of James Otis to commem- Indies, and Timothy Dexter warming-pans to orate the early advocate of liberty; the obelisk the West. Ostinelli long conducted orches- on the neighboring Bunker lull to mark the tras, Bob New shaved, Eustaphieve was Russian spot where occurred the first battle of the Revo- consul, Maflit preached Methodism and Em- lution, and the cannon-ball, imbedded in an an- mons patriotism, Dr. Gardiner taught the Clas- cient ~vall, to typify the siege over which Wash- sics, Selfridge shot Austin, and Manlius Sar- ingron kept ward. Chastellux and Warville, gent put it all in a note~book.* There solemn the Abb~ Robin and Kohl have recorded its Reviews appear quarterly, a Public Library is social prestige, and Cople~ painted its belles of thronged, Lo~vell lectures flourish; there Pres- old. The country around is like an English cott wrote of Ferdinand and Isabella, Dr. Bow- landscape. The old town architecture suggests ditch translated La Place, Ticknor chronicled its ancestral character. Built Ia the deepest Spanish literature, LycIl and Agassiz expounded curve of Massachusetts Bay, which is studded the wonders of nature, Sprague composed Can. with islands, in the middle it rears its civic osity, and Quincy built a market. There was dome surrounded by steeples and roofs. Vane, born Motley, there once lived Bancroft, and Goffe, Whalley were once its honored guests. there Spurzheim died There is Stuarts orig- Kings Chapel and Copps [lill figure in the ro- inal portrait of Washington, and Dr. Warrens mance of Cooper. The flag of the Revolution skeleton. Cape Cods hardy sons sailed thence was first reare(l there. Witches and Quakers on long voyages, and returned to become mer- were there persecuted unto death and slaves chants of renown. There throve Puritanism of originally imported; the whipping-post and the old and Transcendentalism in our day; there pillory were municipal institutions. The Mys they threw the tea into the harbor and cut off tic and the Charles flow thither to the sea. There General Jacksons head from the prow of the Cotton Mather indited his Magnalia, Whitfield (ionstitatioa. preached to thousands in the open air, and a The place is famous for crackers and Cochi- circumnavigator of the globe was escorted in tuate, for poetry and mackerel, for snow-storms breeches and buckles through the streets. Off arid lectures. Sleigh-rides are magnificent and the harbor was fought the naval battle wherein greetings hasty; litterateurs hold colloquies at Lawrence fell; Shirley sent thence recruits to book-stores; chaises are still extant, and so are the old French xvar. There were memorable trucks; there is still a pudding-store at Dorches- times of pestilence, of political feuds, and of ter, but Salem Turnpike has becouie a myth, maritime adventure. State Street, the mart deacons tire grown olisolete , the Transcript still of bankers and brokers, witnessed the Boston gives zest to tea, the General Court and Select- Massacre when British troops first flied on men have given place to the Legislature and a American citizens. Brattle, Pembenton, Wi ~- Mayor. Charles Sumner is United States Sena- glesworth, Bowdoin, Elliot, Dexter, Wendall, ton, and John A. Andrew Governor of the State. Lee, Salhivan, Phillips, Eckley, Otis, Minot, The nuniber ot private collections of rare Lloyd, and a host of others, have left enduring books and cuiiosiries in the possession of men memories among the descendants of the early whose vocations are ihe reverse of literary is a Bostonians. Long Wharf and die Corunion are remarkable evidence of the social culture of the endeared landmarks to the native; the North l)eoPle. T~vo of the best of these choice libra- and South End are rife with faniily traditions ries were the discriminate and expensive glean- nadreamed of by thd new inhabitants. In the ings of a leather-dresser and a wool-merchant. Old Souths belfry was the study of 1)r. Belkuap, The spirit of intellecttval emulation early pos- the first historian of New Hampshire, and the sessed the brain and heart of the Boston boy; pigeon that haunted it is embalitied by the muse the school prize and declamation ~vere followed of Willis. Fisheries at first, distilleries after- by the collegians essay, and this by the Review ward, East India trade later, nod factories at or Magazine article and the social prestige of last brought wealth to the coffurs of the Bos- wit; (listinction therein is the goal of youth and tonians. The jokes of Mather Byles, the songs the criterion of manhood; the process of cram- of Robert Treat Paine, the geniality of Dr mm and rhetorical display become a kind of Kirkland, the ghost-stories of Allston, the teach- mental necessity; the reputatIon of smartness ing of Dr. Park, the editorship of Buckiugham, is coveted; literary anecdotes and apt quota- and the hospitahities of Cabot live in mature mem.. tions are garnered for the banquet; tropes and ones still. figures, repartees and aphorisms exercise the Hawthorne has daguerreotyped the early pen- brain and tongue; by-and-by the shadow of secutions and the primitive legends. A hun- personal eminence overlays the sunshine of an- dred orators keep alive the glory of the national cotiscious being; a certain artificial manner and anniversary. Loiig wooden bridges span river an absence of the spontaneous formalize inter- and estuary; and the last of the cocked hats course; cliques rule; mmiutmial admiration iso- lingered there. Thanks4ving, Fast-day, Elec- lates: there is a sophonuonical element which tion, as ~vell as the Fourth of July, meet ~vith survives student-life; to be literary and respect- due observance. Archbishop Cheverus is re- able is the sine qea non. membered with affection. The Handel and Ha- Dealings with the Dead, by an Old Sexten. 2 vole. dyn societies perform oratorios. Public schools Besten, 1855. 116 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. All this, in its way, is legitimately allied to It would not lack supply of exc hence. credit atid culture; hut it is a limited develop But ye perversely to religion strain Him who was burn to gird on him the sword, ment, a one-sided aspect and influence. It 15 And o.f the fluent phraseman make your king; not that gen nine play of the mind which lends Therefore your steps have wandered from the path. vivacity to the Paris Salon, nor the intellectual Dantes Paradaso. content of the German Conversazione, but rather The result of this exclusive reliance on brain a provincial and egotistic phase of society and this self-absorption to produce ideas, is to character; a partial and patent form of inter- breed a perverse indifference to all hut special course devoid of much that is rich and attrncl- intellectual objectsa want of natural hnman ive in sympathymuch that is natural and hii sympathy with any form of talent or kind of man in life. It tends to sequestration of feel- I culture or phase of character outside of a pre- ing, to parsimony in thought, to Intolerance in scriptive circle. rro excel and not to coalesce opinion, to pedantry in expression. Dont, with others is the aim. I showed my Chess- you dote upon Wordsworth ? asked a Boston Player, said the ingenious Maelzel, to my belle of her astonished partner, as she crossed the Germans, and they said, it is countrymen over in a quadrille. I accuse T. Carlyle of a wonderto the English, and they declared inhospitality to my thought, wrote home a Bos- a triumph to the French, and they ex- the It ton philosopher, after pouring his views ilitO claimed, siperbe, maqn~fiqne!toaBoston man, inattentive ear of the author of Sartor Re- and he said, what you bet I no make one like sartus in the crowded Strand. Table-talk il~ him ? the modern Athens is often cut and dried. Even in those kinds of mental development There are more things in heaven and earth which presuppose imptilse and susceptibility than are dreamed of in the Bostonian phi- there is a rigid adherence to the intellectual, a losophy. There is a genius of character, a studied repudiation of the impassioned. Byron geniality of manners which have quite as much and Burns ~vere not immaculate, hut they were to do with social pleasure and individual faith soulful and an element of human as well as and freedom as any gift or discipline of mind; ethereal fire is needed to keep aglow even the there is a daily beauty in life to which the shul thoughts of genius, and transmit them with vi ministers more than the intellect; there is an . tal force to the ages. The same traits limit interest in men and women as such, which tran- and harden social intercourse, arid magnify scends the charm of wit and the power of knowl-, trifles oh conduct. It was, and perhaps is still, edge; there is a freshness and an adaptation of as damaging to a youths rel)ntation to be seen nature which are more auspicious inlets to truth with his collar turned down and driving a gig and soul than the keenest intelligence or the as if detected in a convivial row. Hence it is most psychological curiosity;~ there is a glow of proverbial that dissipation in that latitude is temperanient more humanizing than the most excessive and fatal, or ignored wholly ihere is effective training, and a virtue in sentinient rarely any medium. Few have the moral cour- deeper than that of sense; the critical is second- age to recognize the natural claims of social can- ary to the appreciative; to respond heartily is didates; for years the so-called elite will pass a more liberal function than to discriminate by on the other side some gifted fellow-creat- willfully. A thing of beauty is a joy as well ure not of our set ; and then after the more as a subject of analysis; to enter into anothers cosmopolitan seal of approval has been given at consciousness is nobler than to be absorbed in Washington, Newport, or New York, make the our own. Enlarged minds are broadly sympa- first advances to a most desirable acquaintance, thetic. Our great artist declared himself a sedulously avoided for years from fear of Mrs. wide liker ; the sweetest of English humor- Grundy Dr. Spurzheim warned the Bostoni- ists, delicately keen in his literary insight, said ans, when their city was far more individual that Shaftesbury was not too high for him nor than at present, that their local intermarriages Jonathan Wild too low ; Burke, Franklin, and and provincial exclusiveness would cause the Webster found true companionship by the way- stock to deteriorate and the soul to famish; he side of common life; and it was the proverbial even suggested that an invasion of Southern philosophy of old that nothing human is alien. Europeans would prove the best remedy. But Michael Angelo reveled in the ~i harmless com- the exigencies of trade and the facilities of travel edy of life ; and Sydney Smith fed his mind are fast undermining all local traits and fusing more from broad intercourse and observation social tendencies. than books. Writing, said the Countess A critic of the influence of this egotism and Hahn Hahn, is but the surrogate of living. hardihood upon religious devclopment, recog- The infinite variety of nature is violated by nizes the same defect, limit, and perversity: a uniform local standard; and the provincial The higher faculties of the soul are dispar- errors of the old Italian republics mar the full aged in the interest of a fastidious intellectual- and free activity of individual endowments in ism, a dainty taste, and a teasing criticism; the the American Athens to-day. whole-hearted love for real men, women, and Nature ever, children in their ordinary relations, supplanted Finding discordant fortune, like all seed by a haughty preference for a cultivated clique Out of its proper climate, thrives hut ill, And were the world below content to mark or a mystical and transcendental communion, And work on the foundation nature hays, more exclusive than any aristocracy in the world; A VILLAGE IN MASSACHUSETTS. 117 indiffcreiitism, dilettanteism, and morbid criti- the most noteworthy of his experiences in Boston cism located in high places and making a dreary the scene on a Sunday morning when Dr Chan- vacuity where should be a luminous centre of ning preached. Henry Wares New-Years Eve life.* Sermon has a pensive charm in the recollec Saturday night is no longer a stated do- tion of those who used to linger thoughtfully mestic reunion. On that day, of old, salt cod- with him on the shoal of time. Judge Story, fish, cider, and hickory-nuts formed the dinner, in his Consecration Address at Mount Auburn, with a due admixture of beets, carrots, and could invoke no more touching memory where- pork-scraps; whereby an Italian traveler in 1790 with to bring home to his audience the recollec- records that he suffered the greatest indigestion tion of the departed, and its claim to sepulchral of his life. On that night amusements were honor, than the silvery voice of Buckminster. foregone, children underwent special ablutions, Out of the psychological tendencies and spec- and were sent early to bed, in anticipation of ulative beauties of these ethical teachings in the the great day of the week, signalized by extraor- capital of New England sprang, in no small dinary solemnity of walk and visage, clean at- degree, the literary animus and the minor phi- tire, exemplary church attendance; a sirloin losophies of her educated people; from the re- of beef and an Indian pudding between the sistance of liberal Christians to Orthodox big- services, followed by Catechism and singing of otry arose not a little of the independent think- hymns in the evening; which regimen produced ing and intellectual self-assertion so character- a curious periodical infirmity, that, according istic of her children. The first ambition of the to George Combe, also once characterized the harvard graduate, of cleverness and scholar- same weekly anniversary in Scotland, and was ship, nurtured in this atmosphere, was to excel there called the Sunday Headache. Do as a pulpit orator; and when the fervor of youth you kno~v what day it is ? was the stern pa- began to cool and the function itself to become rental query to the frivolous urchins. What distasteful, he left the pulpit for the professors the talk of Longinus and Plato was to the neo- chair; that for the political arena or diplomats phytes of antiquity, the lectures of Abelard and mission; and, in mature years, when the weary Cousin to the Paris student, the discussions of honors of successful ambition weighed like lead the Medici gardens to the medieval Florentine on the wearer, reverting to his original literary scholar, such was the sermon to the Bostonian; instincts, resorted to History for a more perma- for this his constitutional walk, his special toilet, nent fame. Such, ~vith more or less variation his family procession to church ~vere the care- in detail, has been the career of some of the fal preparatives: to listen, compare notes, dis- most intellectually ambitious Athenian men of cuss and criticise the Sunday discourse was the letters, ~vhose earliest aspiration was the ser- regular intellectual treat; who is to preach ? mon. Nor did the influence thereof end with the anxious inquiry in the teml)le-porch. From I the highly educated; laymen became eager for the days of John Cotton, Dr. Cooper, Elliot, the honors of the homily, and in Sunday-schools and Bishop Parker to those of Buckminster and and free chapels were heard the voices of trades- Chanuing the pulpit was to him what the fo- men and mechanics. What will the poor fel. rum, the stage, and the academy is to other corn- low do now ? asked the neighbor of a bankrupt munities: his most endeared literary traditions of his friend; fall back on the immortal soul, were those of local pulpit oratory; the mm- was the re~)ly. ister of his youth was the saintly genius most The lyceum and the periodical press still fur- fondly enshrined in his memory; the most re- ther stimulated the minds of the modern Athe- fined legacy of Puritanism no form of literature nians, and oratory gradually became subtilized then an(l there held such memorable sway as into philosophy. There the Yankee intelloct the Homily. It will raise the price of pevs, was suhlimated, retaining its acuteness, its rhet- said a thrifty membar of a congregation, mov- one, its local traits: these grew concise and ethe- ing down the crowded aisle after a great sue- real under the inspiration of German literature cess of this kind; I dont care to have his and mystic colloquy. Then arose the trans- sermons published, if you can not print the tone cendentalists, led off by Margaret Faller: the with them, said an old lady when it was l)ro- origin, progress, and influence whereof are de- posed to issue a volume of her deceased pastors scribed in her Memoirs. With much eloquence, discourses. We once saw in the privare study of and no little insight, there vas vast affectation an Episcopal divine, shelves filled with the writ- in many of those philosophers: truly were some ings of the remarkable men who, in classic style of them described as expositors of ideas, those and with eloquent sentiment, thus ministered to of which that were tree were not new, and those the eager and critical demand for preaching in which were new were not true. Half the apparent the American Athens; and ~vhen we expressed originality was verbal. Aphoristic language our surprise that he should thus cherish the covered imitative thought; a cant of philosophy works of theological opponents, his reply was: concealed familiar convictions. In a word, the They are the only books I know that attract- shrewdness which the Yankee trader applied to ively expatiate on the philosophy of Christiani- barter, the Yankee thinker applied to literature; ty; they warm me to my sermonizing though I there was no spontaneous overflow, but a stud- repudiate the dogmas. Basil Hall considered ied ingenuity; his intellectual work was a mo * Rev. A. H. Mayo. saic composed of gems garnered from a wide 118- HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and often a little explored range of lore. Or- phic sayings were often a quaint remoulding of proverbial philosophy ; and the Dial meas- ured the life-throbs of society with no more ac- curate index than the town-clock, only with a mysterious picturesqueness singularly winsome to a class of minds to which simplicity of dic- tion and integrity of thought are less impressive than oracular vagueness. Some of these aspir- ants for a new philosophy hunted for ideas with the sagacity wherewith their less thoughtful brethren poke about for pence ; and they made the most of their capital by cunning Ibra- seologysecing, or professing to see, so deeply and so far, that merely sensible mortals were baffled, and sometimes gained over into descry- ing something very like a whale in every cloud at which their oracular guides significant- ly gazed. Margaret, this is poetry, sail a transcendentalist to his companion, as Fanny Ellsler gave a miraculous twirl to her extended leg. No, Waldo, was the reply, it is relig- ion. rstan(l this? asked an Do you nude auditor of a transcendental lecturer of the most sagacious lawyer in Massachusetts. No he answered; but my daughters do. There, in- deed, was the true field wherein these mystic seeds of desultory and fantastic thought flour- ished; the young were bewitched with the Ideal, with a Mission and Affinities; enchanted by the depth of their own nature, disgusted with the material and conventional; there is hope, they felt, in extravagance, there is none in routine ; self-reliance was more grand than receptivity. Yet time has wonderfully corrected and har- monized what was noxious in this entusymu- sy. It was in the last analysis but an instinct- ive protest against the formalit.y and coldness of the intellectual atmosphere and social iim- its wherein these flesh souls dwelt. Moreover, expression has become definite with the really gifted of those who were the recognized exposi- tors of the new school; they have become more practical in theory, direct in utterance. Emer- sons later writings are more legitimate speci- mens of the English essay; chaste as Addison, tolerant as Montaigne, and often as practically s~Iggestive as Steele or Sydney Smith. We still, however, find the weird in opposition to the human spirit; the constant assertion of will and self-reliance as the essence of the true Conduct of Lifeindicative of a tempera- meat wherein the blood and judgment are not so well commingled as to make a representa- tive thinker, but one whose clerical descent and New England discipline has concentrated into an intellectual, self-sufficing gleaner of ideas, rather than a comprehensive and sym- pathetic human interpreter a polished Puri- tan with the piety left out, as he has been clev- erly described. Climate, culture, organization, and the prevailing kind of social life have much to do with all the erratic phenomena of Athe- nian development; they refine rather than ex- pand, clarify rather than warm, individualize rather than harmonize the consciousness and the influences of intellectual life. An English visitor, one bright day in autumn, was encountered by a native on one of the bridges near Boston, with a servant following loaded with a thick over-coat, a spencer, a shawl, a pair of over-shoes, and an umbrella. Im sorry youre leaving us, said the latter. Oh, Im only taking a walk, replied John Bull. I expect to use all these things in turn before I get home to dinner, your climate is so infer- nally changeable. A youth, born abroad, when he first danced in a quadrille at a party in the environs of Boston, remarked that the way his fair partner touched hands reminded him of a boy feeling forcucumbers in the dark. Is there not a connection between these two illustrations of climate and manners? A certain scientific alternation of heat and cold destroys the malle- ability of metals, and at the same time increases their incisive quality; and why, if half that phi- losophers tell us of the influence of climate on humanity is true, may not the prevalent altern- ation of winds modify character? Tempera- ment has much to do with social manifestations, and temperature with temperament. A man or woman who has been accustomed for years to a sudden (-hill and glow, and has the physical vigor therefor, becomes reticent; the feelings, like the perspiration, are checked, and sensibili- ty like the cuticle, glows impervious. The east wind, so grateful after sultriness, yet so bleakly penetrating and repulsive to delicate nerves, from its abrupt refrigerative effect has no little influence upon the social instincts of the Bos- tonian. The denizen of New York in his Sunday walk in Fifth Avenue encounters such pleasurable greetings that he is assured the sight of him is a satisfaction on the mere ground of compan- ionship, as a human being, not because he can gratify curiosity, exchange criticisms, or is a member of the Mutual Admiration Society; the social feeling there is normal, and irrespective of intellectual or financial distinction. Let him promenade Beacon Street between churches and the salutation will be curt or curious, rarely warmed by the zest of fellowship. When did you come? How long are you going to stay? What are you about ? says the Bostonian to the occasional visitor. How are you? Im delighted to see you. Come in to dinner? says the Gothamite. Boston is a good place to have the conceit taken out of you, and just as good a one to have it made chronic; want of sympathy does the one, cliqucism the other. Most people there are bookish, few genial; men are esteemed as lions more than as brothers and women as brilliant rather than lovable. What does he know ? is the query regarding each new social candidate. How did you like s speech ? asked one of the auditors of his youthful friend. I was thinking how much better I could do it myself, was the characteristic reply. You caa find more fluent and suggestive talkers in Bos- HAPPY AND UNHAPPY MARRIAGES. 119 ton in a day than you can in New York in a HAPPY AND UNHAPPY MARRIAGES. month; hut among the latter there is a ready hospitality for your spontaneous self, while the J 12 is generally conceded that upon the institu- former meets each idea with critical comment I tion of marriage turns the most vital inter- or argumentative challenge; the one may wake ests of the civil condition of life But the mar- up your mind, hut the other is far more likely riage tie comprises vastly more than this, inns- to refresh your heart. Intellect is idolized in much as it involves the holiest affections of Boston; fellowship enjoyed inNewYork. Book- which mankind is susceptible. stores are the casinos clubs the mental gym- How is it, then, that the holiest condition in nasiums, reading the recreation of the genuine which the sexes can exist together, and which modern Athenian. You see scores of pale girls forms the very pivot of civilizationhow is it carrying home hooks from the public lihrary; that such a noble institution is at once the most you hear perpetual criticism; a ton met is a sacred of human conditions, and the indirect social victory, a literary dinnem~ the fashionable origin of the gravest evils of this life? desideratum-all of which is charming in its Is it (lestiny that inflicts upon the human he- way. It promotes mental alacrity, it keeps ing all t.he torments which attend unmated man- people out of mischief, it leads to culture and to kind, or, as the alternative, offers this being a famehut when exclusive, leads also to hardi- condition full of anxiety and tribulationand hood, to egotism, and to the ahevance of fresh, perhaps woe? Does a perfection, seen in the broad, and earnest social sympathies. It is not anticipated future, so thoroughly fade in the all of life; it does not embrace the soulful, the reality in which it comes to be clothed? Or appreciative, the responsive, so vast and dear, does society breathe the curse of staleness upon that lies beyond the sphere of the academic and the very condition of life to which it owes its the grasp of the knowing faculty; yet is it corn- most cherishable privileges? To all these que- placently regarded as a universal test and tri- ries we must answer, No. nmnph. The Boston Review is named for the At least as regards marriage, it is not com- American continentthe Boston Magazine for monly true that we get too little for our pains. the Atlantic Ocean! Boston is an admirable The trouble is, that we expect too much. Hence Ilace for a young man to go away from; it is we are frequently astonished, and even morti- also an admirable place to which to returnfor fled, that our partner for life does not possess a visit; provided that one knows how to im- the very desiderata which, in truth, we ourselves prove his time and opportunities lack. Besides, it is not flattering to be charged A dinner with the Atlantic Club, a visit to with ignorance concerning self-imposed duties; Cambridge, a chat in some la~vyers or editors of. and vhen the question turns upon conjugal oh - flee, a rummage at the Antiquarian Book-Store, liAations, there is a sort of self-justification in an hour at the City Library or the Athenmnm, attributing to iacompatitdity of disposition the or a colloquy with Longfello~v or Holmes, 1)r. ori,in of numerous domestic troubles. Sweet- Walker or Dr. Hed,;e, Emerson, Parsons, Mrs. ness of disposition and the reverse, like courage, Howe, Henry James, William Hunt, or Whip- has been pretty evenly dispensed to the human pie, will soon convince ativ one that the intel- family. And the average disposition of an in- lectual prestige of Boston is ~vell founded, and dividnal is oftener governed by the view he takes its best social resources charmingly availahlc of the common events of life than by an inherent The names of Story, Channing, Quincy, and peculiarity of character. But even though this Everett are, alas! inscribed at Monnt Auburn: fact be generally admitted, the practical appli- Webster and Prescott are no more; Theodore cation is rejected; because men and yemen are Parker survives in his disciples. unwilling to believe that their domestic bliss or A few of the solid and accomplished men of misery mainly results from inconsiderable acts Boston lag behind the times, and are candidates involving neither marked harmnotmy or contra- for the diet recently prescribed by a wit for such rietv of disposition nor any deepworking of the perverse citizens Ketch-up . there are evi- moral nature. dences that some of them have already taken Mr. and Mrs Jones possess a fair average of homeopathic doses of the same. Despite the good dispositian Mrs. Jones finds her recrea- encroachments of a foreign and rural popula- tion in music or painting, or in both; or per- tion, the bereavements and transitions of society, haps she evinces a lively interest in church mat- and the local changes, there is fresh and noble ters during the week. Mr. Jones does not com- ~soof that Boston is true to her birth-right and l)rehend four-quarter time, and can not appre- loyal to her patriotic inheritance. The list of ciate Titian. Indeed, he does not wish to cul- her martyred sons in the war for the Union, in- tivate or admire either arta very evident fact, incitides the most honored of her family names because he rings his changes upon a stale old on the heroic roll, so tenderly cherished and joke about four-quarters and five-twenties worthily commemoramedI)wight, Cary, Dehon, at the expense of the former; and he insists that, Revere, Putnam, Lowell, Sha~v, and others; so after all, the prettiest combination of color is that the returning native can solace his regrets red, white, and blue. And as for occasions of for all that is passed away, by the hallowed mem- outburst of this questionable witticism, could ones that have newly crowned his birth-place there he a more appropriate time. than upon with sacred fame. the Wednesday and Friday evenings when he

J. W. Perkins Perkins, J. W. Happy and Unhappy Marriages 119-121

HAPPY AND UNHAPPY MARRIAGES. 119 ton in a day than you can in New York in a HAPPY AND UNHAPPY MARRIAGES. month; hut among the latter there is a ready hospitality for your spontaneous self, while the J 12 is generally conceded that upon the institu- former meets each idea with critical comment I tion of marriage turns the most vital inter- or argumentative challenge; the one may wake ests of the civil condition of life But the mar- up your mind, hut the other is far more likely riage tie comprises vastly more than this, inns- to refresh your heart. Intellect is idolized in much as it involves the holiest affections of Boston; fellowship enjoyed inNewYork. Book- which mankind is susceptible. stores are the casinos clubs the mental gym- How is it, then, that the holiest condition in nasiums, reading the recreation of the genuine which the sexes can exist together, and which modern Athenian. You see scores of pale girls forms the very pivot of civilizationhow is it carrying home hooks from the public lihrary; that such a noble institution is at once the most you hear perpetual criticism; a ton met is a sacred of human conditions, and the indirect social victory, a literary dinnem~ the fashionable origin of the gravest evils of this life? desideratum-all of which is charming in its Is it (lestiny that inflicts upon the human he- way. It promotes mental alacrity, it keeps ing all t.he torments which attend unmated man- people out of mischief, it leads to culture and to kind, or, as the alternative, offers this being a famehut when exclusive, leads also to hardi- condition full of anxiety and tribulationand hood, to egotism, and to the ahevance of fresh, perhaps woe? Does a perfection, seen in the broad, and earnest social sympathies. It is not anticipated future, so thoroughly fade in the all of life; it does not embrace the soulful, the reality in which it comes to be clothed? Or appreciative, the responsive, so vast and dear, does society breathe the curse of staleness upon that lies beyond the sphere of the academic and the very condition of life to which it owes its the grasp of the knowing faculty; yet is it corn- most cherishable privileges? To all these que- placently regarded as a universal test and tri- ries we must answer, No. nmnph. The Boston Review is named for the At least as regards marriage, it is not com- American continentthe Boston Magazine for monly true that we get too little for our pains. the Atlantic Ocean! Boston is an admirable The trouble is, that we expect too much. Hence Ilace for a young man to go away from; it is we are frequently astonished, and even morti- also an admirable place to which to returnfor fled, that our partner for life does not possess a visit; provided that one knows how to im- the very desiderata which, in truth, we ourselves prove his time and opportunities lack. Besides, it is not flattering to be charged A dinner with the Atlantic Club, a visit to with ignorance concerning self-imposed duties; Cambridge, a chat in some la~vyers or editors of. and vhen the question turns upon conjugal oh - flee, a rummage at the Antiquarian Book-Store, liAations, there is a sort of self-justification in an hour at the City Library or the Athenmnm, attributing to iacompatitdity of disposition the or a colloquy with Longfello~v or Holmes, 1)r. ori,in of numerous domestic troubles. Sweet- Walker or Dr. Hed,;e, Emerson, Parsons, Mrs. ness of disposition and the reverse, like courage, Howe, Henry James, William Hunt, or Whip- has been pretty evenly dispensed to the human pie, will soon convince ativ one that the intel- family. And the average disposition of an in- lectual prestige of Boston is ~vell founded, and dividnal is oftener governed by the view he takes its best social resources charmingly availahlc of the common events of life than by an inherent The names of Story, Channing, Quincy, and peculiarity of character. But even though this Everett are, alas! inscribed at Monnt Auburn: fact be generally admitted, the practical appli- Webster and Prescott are no more; Theodore cation is rejected; because men and yemen are Parker survives in his disciples. unwilling to believe that their domestic bliss or A few of the solid and accomplished men of misery mainly results from inconsiderable acts Boston lag behind the times, and are candidates involving neither marked harmnotmy or contra- for the diet recently prescribed by a wit for such rietv of disposition nor any deepworking of the perverse citizens Ketch-up . there are evi- moral nature. dences that some of them have already taken Mr. and Mrs Jones possess a fair average of homeopathic doses of the same. Despite the good dispositian Mrs. Jones finds her recrea- encroachments of a foreign and rural popula- tion in music or painting, or in both; or per- tion, the bereavements and transitions of society, haps she evinces a lively interest in church mat- and the local changes, there is fresh and noble ters during the week. Mr. Jones does not com- ~soof that Boston is true to her birth-right and l)rehend four-quarter time, and can not appre- loyal to her patriotic inheritance. The list of ciate Titian. Indeed, he does not wish to cul- her martyred sons in the war for the Union, in- tivate or admire either arta very evident fact, incitides the most honored of her family names because he rings his changes upon a stale old on the heroic roll, so tenderly cherished and joke about four-quarters and five-twenties worthily commemoramedI)wight, Cary, Dehon, at the expense of the former; and he insists that, Revere, Putnam, Lowell, Sha~v, and others; so after all, the prettiest combination of color is that the returning native can solace his regrets red, white, and blue. And as for occasions of for all that is passed away, by the hallowed mem- outburst of this questionable witticism, could ones that have newly crowned his birth-place there he a more appropriate time. than upon with sacred fame. the Wednesday and Friday evenings when he 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. grumblingly calls to conduct his wife from the church door? Mr. Thompson admires what is essentially termed home music, while his wife finds no enjt)yrnent in the art outside the opera-house. it is quite a fortuitous circumstance if she does not take lessons at $100 per quarter and a positive mercy if l)OO~ Thompsons home be not invaded by a crowd of fiercely mustached vaga- londs and dowdy, unwashed females. Enough is here disclosed to show that considerable ma- terial for unhappiness lies not in the deep re- cesses of married life, but at the surface of do- mestic existence. Thus, they who appear hap- py in the eye of society often fail to aIpreciate each others pursuits through unwillingness to nourish a kindred sympathy, and the evil lays the ground-work of ultimate coldnessif not of unfaithfulness. It is a good thing to behave well in society; hut it is a great deal better to act justly at home. Truly, a laudable desire for public esteem begetteth many a courteous action, but it is in the inner, the unseen, the sacred apartment of our home that the pride of goodness and truth gives birth to happiness. Taking an average condition in life, mans contentmei)t of mind is considerahly according to his ouvn making; and likenise, in his domes- tic relations, his happiness lies greatly in his hands. This sIoald he a cheering reflection, though we fear it is not commonly utonrished. But it is nevertheless a true one. Because, in the present case, if the married life be thorough- ly analyzed, a majority of snlThring will be found to originate in errors of omission rather than in those of commission: and in errors of omission frequently lies the evil in question. The truth is, that in doing a kindly act., did we hut dis- play one halt the zeal which animates us in con- cealing the consequences of a had (Iced, many of the pains and penalties of our earthly career would he avoided, and a peaceful death would be the closing scene of a life of truth and love. Unfottunately, the errors of our partners re- flect. themselves in an undue degree upon our character, and stamp our reciprocative actions with a portion of the fatiltiness to which these actions owe their origin. It is so gratifying to he a corrector of erroran avenger of truth! We forget otmr own fallibility, and we increase to an indefinite tlegree the very ills which we had desired to (lissipate. The rare pourer of man to gaze undismayed upon the vicissitudes which beset Itis path through life, proclaims the exalted characteristics of his sex, and entitles him to love, to cherish, and to ennoble the heittg who is so necessary to his hap- piness. Yet, from its very nature, his noble equipoise is often lost in the petty vexatious of the moment. It has been said that uvere man- kind deprived of the notoriety attending a pub- lie death there would be no martyrs. Truly it were difficult to play martyr if none stood by to applaud; and for a similar reason, perhaps, it is a difflettlt thing to play hero in ones own house. There is nothing to be gained by it the game does not pay. But we frequcittly grin and bear many little antuoyances which a little thoughtfulness would overcome. What if our husband grunibles a little over an indifferent breakfast? Why not suffer our wife to sing her doleful tale about the short comings of a delinquent servant? Poor as it is, the former uvould not sell his meal for twenty times its value. And for the rest, it is poor consolation to give sharp advice to a wife when all she desIres from her husband is a little sym- pathetic grumble. We greatly fear that men and women think too much about one another, and too little tbr each other. The love of a man may be actitally enthralled by very humble means: the homely but ever ready slippers at the evening fireside; the dainty bit which his wife has prepared (with a ten minutes labor) expressly for his evening meal; or the little display of her accomplish- ments, sweetly granted at the close of the day. And surely the love of woman were cheaply earned and secured by little deeds and even sacritces. When alone, she dreams of us as wholly ittmmersed in the business of the day. But the small basket of early or rare fruit, or the new tibbon, which we might so easily bring her now an(l then, would tell her its own little talethat she is in our heart even when we are immersed iii the duties and excitements of traffic. What if uve slat our things around nouv and then? Pray domit look sour. Remember that we are men; and men are rarely celebrated for the proper ordering of the clothes-press. And as for the things which our wife carries about whenever she travelsand truly their name is le- gion n by he over-troubled about them? Pick up luer latasol throuv her veil over your artn carry her traps. Of course these things trouble you. Whom do they not trouble? But you would be far more sorely troubled were she gone forever, att(l if these very sources of an- noyances were carefully lacked away in some dark closet. She may not reward you on the spot for all your trotuble, but there are ninety- nine chances in a hundred that she feels grate- ful for your aid, and she will soon learn to miss you when you are absent. In the case of interested marriages it seems ertuel that the lives of such couples should ap- pear to give the lie, on the score of happiness, to their less sordid but more noisy neighbors. If, however, it prove a source of consolation to these latter, they sho~Jd remember that The jtngttng of the gutnea hetps Tue tuart that honor feets. And, in the end, it is very questionable if the ineonveniettees of life attending disinterested marriages is not invariably to be preferred to the ap~ arent harmony existitug between iumdividttals united solely through mercenary motives, who, by tacit cotusent, agree to disagree; and who con- sequently lead a life of mock tranquillity. One is almost tempted to believe that the world is dootned to teem with men and women who, amidst their petty biekerings, lose sight of the EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 12~t high mission for which they were created. And this state of affairs is often to be wondered at, because the woman, who thoroughly under- stands her power (one would suppose), will not abandon the little graces by which she gained the love of her liege lord. And he who fails to preserve his love in its early freshness abandons the respect and the duty which he owes to him- self. For if the character of Husband be of an order at once creative, ennobling, and sacred, how noble and sacred must be the l)eing of her who is his co-worker in holiness, the repository of his joys and sorrows, the keeper of his affec- tions and his innocence, and the lovely modeler of the characters of his children! And though the character of Wfe entail a measure of subjectiveness, her many sacrifices THE year is closing peacefully after the wild storms of war, and the Christmas that is com- ing will be truly a festival of peace and good-will. The passions generated by civil war can not be rap- idly quieted; and for many a month and year the country must toss and heave like the sea after a tempest. Yet, what a North Carolinian said the other day is very true, that there is apparemitly no ill-feeling, no vin(lictive wish, in this part of the country. There is great sobriety, there is a prof6~und conviction of the dangerous fallacy of tite principle upon which the rebellion proceeded. bitt there is aii equally sober wish that all trace of the difference may disappear as swiftly and as surely as possible. The result of the war is a misfortune for nobody. It has consunwd human life, it has wasted property, but the gains for each side are greater than the losses. The principles of national unity and of equal rights before the law have been vindicated in such a way that the~ are not likely to be again questioned, and the advantage of such a result to the peace of the country and the welfare of man- kiad is incalculable. For the present, of course, some of those who heartily supported the rebellion do not ndmmiit the truth of these principlesthey merely acquiesce in the superior force which has asserted them Such persons may even maintain a sullen attitude of re- sistance, and cherish a secret hope of once more try. ing the issue by arms. But these are not the men who fought, they are those who were comintent to snuff the battle afar off. Soldiers are practical men. They depend upon force, and they know when they are overpowered. Soldiers submit, orators do not. That there is a feeling of intense hostility at the South toward the mn who are supposed especially to represent the principle which has h)revaile(I in the contest is not to be denied. Those who denounce Slavery, for instance, are supposed, not unnatural- ly but untruly, to hate slaveholders. But they do not. They may deplore its effect upon public inter- ests and private character, and expose them as imlain- lv as words permit, but that is quite independent of any meaner feeling whatever. They may claim that all men have inherent rights. but that is not to be the enemies of any man or class, hut the very re- verse. In this country we demand equal rights for are not only such as she would never sustain in devotion to her own sex, but they are frequently of a reciprocal nature, and find reward in the bosom alone of him for whom she suffers them in the bosom alone of him for whose sake she bears the honorable title of wife and mother his all in allhis heaven upon earth! It was a saying replete with poetic imagery when our Saviour called the Chnrch His Wife. But it was more than poetryit was the poetry of truth! In the lives of Christ and His Bride is shadowed forth, in typical hues, the deep de- votion that should crown the marriage vow. Then, indeed, were solved the holy problem of this life; for man and voman would prepare each other for the true consummation of their love in the realms of Eternal Bliss! all men, because the denial of them imperils the peace and rights of every man. No man, or class, or community here can separate itself from any oth- er. What is any mans business, so far as rights are concernetl, is every mans. The factory system in New England. for instance, is the business of Georgia and Arkansas, as of every other community in the country. For if in that system fundamental rights should be disregarded and ignorance and crime fostered, there is not a citizen in the remotest cor- ner of the land who would not only be justified, but morally bound, to protest and expose the iniquity. The niind-vour-own-business kind of statesmanship is the tiest or the worst in thin world. It is the worst, if you think that nothing but ~our own immediate personal benefit is your business. It is the best, if you understand that 110 man in a country can be isolated from any other, and that all go up or down together. There is a necessary difference, but no necessary antagonism, between the various parts of this coun- try. Climate and soil are subtle influences, affect- ing both character and commerce. The people of New England, of the northwest, of the Middle States, and of the South, will always have local characteristics; and what will be the task of a true statesmanship but to modify them as much as possi- ble, and prevent their development into alienation? The freest communication and the freest debate will level the lines and bring us all more closely and amical)ly together. Whatever tends to sepa- rate us, physically or mentally, prolongs jealousy and hostility. And, in this sense, rail roads and telegraphs and newspapers become actual ministers of national peace. Neither side should ask silence oi timidity of the other. What we all want is the truth stated as forcibly as the pen and tongue can utter it. The policy that each earnestly believes to be essential to the national welfare each must earnestly advocate, amid perpetually appeal to the great final tribunalthe people at the polls. If this could be tIm spirit on all sides, the pacifi- cation of the coumitry, even with profound differ- ences of opinion, would not be a very long or diffi- cult process. THE danger of ascribing a literal fulfillment to prophecies of any kind is strikingly illustrated in a

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 121-125

EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 12~t high mission for which they were created. And this state of affairs is often to be wondered at, because the woman, who thoroughly under- stands her power (one would suppose), will not abandon the little graces by which she gained the love of her liege lord. And he who fails to preserve his love in its early freshness abandons the respect and the duty which he owes to him- self. For if the character of Husband be of an order at once creative, ennobling, and sacred, how noble and sacred must be the l)eing of her who is his co-worker in holiness, the repository of his joys and sorrows, the keeper of his affec- tions and his innocence, and the lovely modeler of the characters of his children! And though the character of Wfe entail a measure of subjectiveness, her many sacrifices THE year is closing peacefully after the wild storms of war, and the Christmas that is com- ing will be truly a festival of peace and good-will. The passions generated by civil war can not be rap- idly quieted; and for many a month and year the country must toss and heave like the sea after a tempest. Yet, what a North Carolinian said the other day is very true, that there is apparemitly no ill-feeling, no vin(lictive wish, in this part of the country. There is great sobriety, there is a prof6~und conviction of the dangerous fallacy of tite principle upon which the rebellion proceeded. bitt there is aii equally sober wish that all trace of the difference may disappear as swiftly and as surely as possible. The result of the war is a misfortune for nobody. It has consunwd human life, it has wasted property, but the gains for each side are greater than the losses. The principles of national unity and of equal rights before the law have been vindicated in such a way that the~ are not likely to be again questioned, and the advantage of such a result to the peace of the country and the welfare of man- kiad is incalculable. For the present, of course, some of those who heartily supported the rebellion do not ndmmiit the truth of these principlesthey merely acquiesce in the superior force which has asserted them Such persons may even maintain a sullen attitude of re- sistance, and cherish a secret hope of once more try. ing the issue by arms. But these are not the men who fought, they are those who were comintent to snuff the battle afar off. Soldiers are practical men. They depend upon force, and they know when they are overpowered. Soldiers submit, orators do not. That there is a feeling of intense hostility at the South toward the mn who are supposed especially to represent the principle which has h)revaile(I in the contest is not to be denied. Those who denounce Slavery, for instance, are supposed, not unnatural- ly but untruly, to hate slaveholders. But they do not. They may deplore its effect upon public inter- ests and private character, and expose them as imlain- lv as words permit, but that is quite independent of any meaner feeling whatever. They may claim that all men have inherent rights. but that is not to be the enemies of any man or class, hut the very re- verse. In this country we demand equal rights for are not only such as she would never sustain in devotion to her own sex, but they are frequently of a reciprocal nature, and find reward in the bosom alone of him for whom she suffers them in the bosom alone of him for whose sake she bears the honorable title of wife and mother his all in allhis heaven upon earth! It was a saying replete with poetic imagery when our Saviour called the Chnrch His Wife. But it was more than poetryit was the poetry of truth! In the lives of Christ and His Bride is shadowed forth, in typical hues, the deep de- votion that should crown the marriage vow. Then, indeed, were solved the holy problem of this life; for man and voman would prepare each other for the true consummation of their love in the realms of Eternal Bliss! all men, because the denial of them imperils the peace and rights of every man. No man, or class, or community here can separate itself from any oth- er. What is any mans business, so far as rights are concernetl, is every mans. The factory system in New England. for instance, is the business of Georgia and Arkansas, as of every other community in the country. For if in that system fundamental rights should be disregarded and ignorance and crime fostered, there is not a citizen in the remotest cor- ner of the land who would not only be justified, but morally bound, to protest and expose the iniquity. The niind-vour-own-business kind of statesmanship is the tiest or the worst in thin world. It is the worst, if you think that nothing but ~our own immediate personal benefit is your business. It is the best, if you understand that 110 man in a country can be isolated from any other, and that all go up or down together. There is a necessary difference, but no necessary antagonism, between the various parts of this coun- try. Climate and soil are subtle influences, affect- ing both character and commerce. The people of New England, of the northwest, of the Middle States, and of the South, will always have local characteristics; and what will be the task of a true statesmanship but to modify them as much as possi- ble, and prevent their development into alienation? The freest communication and the freest debate will level the lines and bring us all more closely and amical)ly together. Whatever tends to sepa- rate us, physically or mentally, prolongs jealousy and hostility. And, in this sense, rail roads and telegraphs and newspapers become actual ministers of national peace. Neither side should ask silence oi timidity of the other. What we all want is the truth stated as forcibly as the pen and tongue can utter it. The policy that each earnestly believes to be essential to the national welfare each must earnestly advocate, amid perpetually appeal to the great final tribunalthe people at the polls. If this could be tIm spirit on all sides, the pacifi- cation of the coumitry, even with profound differ- ences of opinion, would not be a very long or diffi- cult process. THE danger of ascribing a literal fulfillment to prophecies of any kind is strikingly illustrated in a 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. manuscript which has come into our hands, and which was written in the Utica Lunatic Asylum by one of the patients in 1857. It is in the form of a letter to the writers father. He says: That yen may know what I have been doing, Satan the King, the Ark, the Christ (for the times are changed), will issue ten commandments which shall supersede Mo- sess law and Christs law, and ie forty-wo months de- stroy the temple o.f the United Stales Government end build it again. These things will go into the contents of my Book of Revelations. This is not speculation, and is more than orthodox. Forty-two months from the date of the l~tter is about the exact time of the fall of Sumter. The disagreeable part of the prophecy is, that Satan is not only to destroy but to rebuild the Government. But meanwhile our lunatic friend is proved a much better prophet than the excellent Mr. Joseph Miller if that is any consolation to any body. THE soldiers of the late war will have no reason to complain, as those of our Revolution did, that they are forgotten and disregarded by the pcople. There is no passport to popular favor so sure as the record of military service. The gates of political success are thrown wide open to the veterans, and no party feels even a hope of victory at the polls which does not head its ticket with a General. The chief candidates of all parties in all the States in the late Autumn elections were soldiers; and it is as true of the late rehel as of the loyal States. In Mississippi General Humphreys has been elected; and in South Carolina General Wade Hampton has been defeatedif defeated at allb~ a very small majority each of them being opposed lv a civilian. The most effective speakers also have been soldiers. Whatever may he their other qualifications for ora- tory and political leadership, there is a popular in- stinct that men who have freely and constantly risked their lives in defense of the Government have a pculiar right to advise how it shall be conducted. Then the personal presence of heroes is always inspiring. There is universal curiosity to see the mcii who has done great deeds, and won signal vic- tories. If it has merely added renown to the na- tional name the national gratitude is irrepressible. Nelson was the most popular man in England. But if the victory has been a clear gain for civilization and mankind as well as a national glory, the en- thisiasm and feeling are not to be described. In the United States the most popular menthose whom more people would go a greater distance to see than any otherare Grant, Farragut, Sherman, 011(1 Sheridan. The same kind of interest attends the story of their lives and achievements. When Southey wrote the Life of Nelson, which he did with singu- lar skill, the poet of Thalaha and 1mIadoc was the most popular author in England. So also the un- pretending volume in which Major Nichols tells the Story of Shermans March to the Sea has been eagerly sought and every where read, and already more than thirty ediiions have been sold. A simi- lar sketch of Sheridans scouring of the Shenandoah would have the same general charm. It is this feeling which has prompted the sketch- es of the careers of our great Generals which have been published in this Magazine, and which have been read with such avidity and interest all over the land. That very interest has led to criticism of them, to objection as to some of the details, and to correction of SOlilO unavoidable misstatements. Of course in such narrations there will be descrip- tions of operations which will be challenged, and estimates of character which will seem to many unjust. And there may even be misr( presenta- tions which arise from any thing but malevolence on the part of the writers. Thus we are sure the paper upon General Sheridan in our August num- ber, while it vividly describes the resistless force with which the genius of that noble soldier mag- netizes an army, leaves a wrong impression as to his general habit of speech. The reader would easily suppose that the General was habittially pro- fane, and constantly swore, as General Grant con- stantlv smokes. This is a mistake; for General Sheridan, Ihough not a Puritan, is not a profane man. In the ardor of battle, when he sees men faltering or his plans miscarrying, like Washing- ton at Monmouth, and like every General in our army, with few exceptions, Sheridan peals out a ringing oath, which has the force of an act, and in the wild tumult tirives home his will upon every man around him. But the last offense of which such a man would he guilty is weakening his com- mon conversation with the foolish rhetoric of oaths. We point what we are saying by this illustration because of a popular and not unnatural impression that so swift and impetuous a soldier must be al- ways a liberal swearer; and because we regret that unintentionally tile opinion should have been con- firmed in these pages. Sound swearing helps wonderfully in the field, said one of our most brill- iant Major-Generals to the Easy Chair; I swear in ~~self then, amid dont feel guilty. Yet in an ac- quaintance of many years we had never heard him tise an oath. TIme kind reader will not understand that we are jtisl.ifving profanity; we are only defending the good name of nien we all love and honor against misconception. The popular admiration of the soldiers, which is the text of our little sermon, is f~irther showii in the generous way in which the political canvass was conducted. No orator of character sought to depre- ciate tile service of the opposing military candidates, unless their failure were conspicuous and unchal- lenged. They were regarded as the representatives of a certain policy, and if personal criticism was made it was solely upon the ground of political sentiinemit or aehion. Every speaker felt that he wounded his own cause if lie aimed a blow at the military career of the opponent. From this kind of idolatry a very grave mischief may easily spring. A soldier is not of necessity a good civil magistrate. Indeed there are reasons why lie should be a peculiarly poor one. The law in which he has been trained is military law, and military law is despotic. But the security has been, and is, in the fact that so many of our military he- roes are only civilia us after all, and even if they were hired soldiers they had been reabsorhed into civil life when the war began. Grant had been at West Point, btit lie was a tanner in the spring of 1861. Sherman had been in a banking-office in California. The war found Burnside upon a rail- road, and Hooker upon a farm. And it was not found that the soldiers who had become civilians were the least efficient when the trial came. There was indeed a strong prejudice against West Point when the war began; not because it was doubted that young men there received a good mili- tary education, hut because the political influence of the school was believed to be unfavorable to the EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 123 National Government. The influence was thought to have helped foster the silly notion that it was gentlemanly to be a rebel and indifferent to human rights. It was the vice of much of our city society, and was perhaps not a little encouraged by many at the Point. The consequence was a very general feeling that the Military Academy was almost a hot- bed for treason, and great injustice was done to the West Pointers. But the war has vindicated the value and influence of the Academy, while it lies shown also how rapidly the exigency will turn a civilian into a soldier, for some of the volunteer offi- cers are among the best in the service. To take a m in whose name is in the newspaper upon the ta- ble, there is General John A. Logan. A man like General Logan is a typical American citizen. Of strong native sense, of great natural knowledge of men, and long and familiar experience of affairs, one of the shrewdest of Western politi- cians, an earnest and effective repr~sentative in Congress, with lion-like spirit opposing the begin- stings of rebellion and uttering the famous prophecy which four years made history; one of the earliest soldiers of the war, and one of the most efficient and successful, General Logan respects his double stars enough to give his tongue where lie has given his sword, and to maintain by eloquence the principles which he defends in battle. Such men are the strength of the country. And the country knows it. A nation which has done what we have in the last few years lucy well be trusted. The intelligence which saved it from for- cible overthrow will secure it against being Qut- witted. The spirit which defeated Charles First in the field baffled Guy Fawkes in the cellar. The stron~ sense that was deaf to Lees cannon will hardly be persuaded by the tongues of his soldiers turned Representatives and Senators. THE holiday season brings the annual feast of beautiful books; and it is curious to remark the clif- ference between the Tokens and Souvenirs and Keepsakes of our fathers and mothers and the books of a similar intention in our time. The most successful and popular holiday books are thu works of the best authors illustrated by the best artists. A pleasant type of this taste was the songs of Shakespeare, illustrated by a London club, a few years since; and among the classics of the holiday season is The Poets of the Nineteenth Century, published by the Harpers, a work which must be alevays attractive as a body of beautiful poetry su- perbly illustrated. Among the present gems of the 5-ason the Songs of Seven, by Jean lugelow, charmingly illustrated, is one of the mo.t shining. This series of tender and melodious poems is already familiar; for since Mrs. Browning no verse has been accepted by the popular heart as more truly womanly than Jean Ingelows. The Songs of Seven are the songs of the various epochs of a womans life meas- ured by intervals of seven years. The child, the girl, the maid, the lover, the wife, the mother, the widow, all sing their characteristic experience in exquisite and pathetic music. It is a singularly felicitous selection for the purpose, by Roberts and Brothers. Then the Gems from Tennyson, by Ticknor and Fields, gives us his most popular poems copi- ously illustrated by many hands. When Tenny- sons first thin volume was published, more than thirty years ago, a copy fleated over the ocean into the hands ofa young enthusiast and scholar in Bos- ton, and he wrote an ardent word of recognition of the new poet, which he took to the editor of an in- fluential Review. The grave and reverend editor read the article and returned it to the writer, say- ing, kindly, that such stuff could not be considered poetry tiy any sane man. Now in the same Boston there are somu fifteen different editions of Tenny suns poetry published by Ticknor and Fields, and there is no more popular author in England or America /The Easy Chair adds to these two sumptuous books a plain, slight volume published by Bunce and lluiitington, Walt Whitmans Drum Taps. If any reader is appalled by seeing that name in so choice a society, let us not argue the matter nor ex- press any opinion, but ask whether there is no poetry in this wail upon the death of Lincoln, and in the Song of the Drum which follows 0 Captain! my Captain I our fearfiit trip is done; The ship lies weathered every rock, the prize we sought ts ~ven; The pert is near, the belts I hear, the people alt ex- utting, White follow eyes the steady keel, the vesset grim and daring: But 0 heart heart! heart Leave yen not the ltttle spot, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fatten cold and dead. 0 Captain! my Captain I rise tip and hear the betis; Rise up, foi yen the flag is flung, for yen the bugte trills For you bouquets and ribbond wreathsfor you ttse shores a.crowding; For yen they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turutug; 0 Captain I dear fattier! Thts arm I push beneath you It is some dream that en the deck Youve fatten cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his tips are pale and stilt; My fattier does not feet my arm, lie has no pulse nor wilt; But the ship, the ship is ancliord safe, its voyage closed and done; Front fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; Exult, 0 shores! and ring, 0 bells! Lint I, with silent tread, Watk the spot usy Captain ties Fatten cold and dead. In the song of the Drum there is a terrible per- sistence which prfectly expresses the resolution of the first dave of the war Beat, beat, drums! Litow I bugles, blow! Through the windows through doors burst like a force of ruthless men, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation; Into the school ~vhere the scholar is studying; Leave not the bridegroom quietno happiness must he have now with hits bride; Nor the peaceful farmer any peace plowing his field or gathering his graiui; So fierce you whirr and pound, you drumsso shrill yell bugles blow! Beat, drums, beat! Blow, bugles, blow! Over the traffic of citiesover the runshie of wheels in the streets; Are beds prepared for sleepers at night In the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds: No bargaiiiers bargains by dayno brokers or epson- ~ they continue? Would this talkers be talking? Would the singer at- tempt to sing? 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Would the lawyer rise in court to state his c~sse before must talk to the Sunday-schools, he must take part the judge? with the Bible Union. Certainly we get the most Then rattle quicker, heavier drumsyou bugle wild- out of our visitors of every kind. Our capacity for er blow! I lionizing is Continental. Beat, heat, drums! Blow, bugles, blow! Sir Morton and his party have not been wanting. Make no larleystop for no expostulation; They were friendly to us during the war, and they Mind not the timidmind not the weeper o prayer; had earned the welcome they received. Always Mind not the old man beseeching the young luau Let not the childs voice he heard, nor the mu prompt, affable, and generous, they spoke freely entreaties; oiere and enthusiastically; and as their departure ap- Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they proached Sir Morton invited to a banquet at Del- lie awaiting the hearses, monicos two hundred and fifty guests, who vicari So strong you thump, 0 terrible drums !eo loud you onsly rcceived his magnificent gratitude and fare- bugles blow! well. It was not unfortunate that this remarkable ex- AT the end of the year 1854 the allied army in change of civilities was proceeding simultaneously the Crimea found itself separated from its base by with the correspondence between Lord Russell and several miles of mud. Starvation seemed to threat- Mr. Adams. The true interests of the two nations en it. It held up imploring hands to Heaven, Al- do not demand war, and certainly those of mankind lab, and Downing Street. But no help came. In I do not. We swell and rage at. an England typified similar circumstances, when the Union army in this by a dull, blundering, and ohs mate old Pox of a country was impeded, the colonels found in their John Bull; but there is quite another England regiments men of every faculty who could build a humane, generous, and progressive. We are apt railroad, drive a locomotive, print a newspaper and to forget the latter in the former. We forget Sir edit it, and in general do nimbly and successfully Morton Ptto in John Laird, and Goldwin Smith whatever was to be done. It was the Yankee gun- and John Bright in Roebuck and Beresford Hope. ius, apt for every thing. It will be no mean service if the pleasant trip of Meanwhile the allied army was, plainly, stuck Sir Morton Peto shall bring us into closer and more in tile mud. Heaven, mindful of its old methods, I friendly relations with those who love what we waited to help those who helped them~elves; Al- love and honestly work with us for the greatest lab was obdurate, aud Downing Strert impotent. I good of the greatest number. But the Yankee genius is universal, and does not disdain to inspire a Briton as well as a Britons I AMONG such Englishmen we cotild hardly count cousin. So one morning Mr. Ptto, of the famous Lord Palmerston, wIt o died in October, after a long firm of Peto and Grissell, which had built the lion- life of fourscore years, threescore of which had gerford Market, and the Reform and Oxfbrd and been passed in the public service. He was not Cambridge Club-houses in London, and which had identified with any great principle or measure. He contracted for builtling the new Houses of Parlia- can neither be called a great man mior a great En- meat, called upon the Duke of Newcasle, then glishman. He was an adroit politician, shrewd, 1~hi;mister at War, and proposed, without prospect of unscrmsptmlous, and popolarlv successful, who had profit, to step over the Crimea and lift the army out seen a long series of wonderful events, and had been of the mud by laying down a railroad to its bread a part of British amid even of European histomy at a amid butter base. The Duke was deflglmted with remarkable peritd. Mr. Peto, and sent him with more thamin a thousand Time more earnest liberals in England undoubted- nayvies, or laborers, to the Crimea; amid there he lv fearrd and condemned the Voltairean spirit in laid a few miles of level road, and the baffling mtmd which Lord Palmerston mammaged the government was conquered. The Government shared time do- of England. They felt that lie did not see the deep- light of the Minister at War, and grateful as Queen or tendencies of the time; that he tided England Elizahoth to the man who had enabled her to step along frtim day to day, hut that grave perils in- over the mmmd, she touched him on the shoulder, and creased at which he memely jauntily smiled or sneer- Mr. Peto rose from his knots Sir Morton Peto, Bar- ed. Technically in the party divisions of England onet. a Whig. he hatl, like the great Whig Lords who His recent visit to this country was so celebrated seated Willianin Third upon the throne, a Tory heart. in the daily papers as to be milmost a national event. He kept the peace amid aroused tIme people. He was Sir Mortomi is the greatest railway contractor in the a Parliamentary pet of that England which is typi- world. He built. the Norwegian Gramid Trunk limie I fled by John Bull. But the Eughmnd of Milton, of amid the Royal Danish limit, a large part of the chief Hampden, of Ilormier, of Mackimmtosh, of Mill and British roads and the great Canadian line; amid as Cobden and Bright, was one which line did not on- the epoch of peace dawned again in this country I derstand nor care to umiderstand. no man saw more clearly the immense works that The old man, who never seemed old, and who must be undertaken for internal communication; probably stood in the general imagination of his and he came at once to see for himself and to do countrymen as he was always depicted in Punch what might be wisely and profitably done. a spruce and deb minairo ci-devuetjeuue homme, with He has been over our chief lateral hues, received I a sprig in his momithwas returned to Parliament at every point with time most friemidly hospitality at the last general election, and died in the highest and sympathy, and he amid his party responding positiomi which a British sumbject can atlain. His with the utmnust cordiality of atimirutiomi for the I death will probably be hereafter seen to have wonderful theatre whicim this country opened for I marked tho end of an epoch. The strict Whig roads, and of the genius and spirit of the peopie policy has long ceased to be a liberal movement. and their institutions. With our usual ardor, it The party raises an old cry of rofturm as the election has not been enough that he should visit mines approaches, but its reforms are apples of Sodom. and exchanges amid offices of every kind, brmt he TIme hope and fuithm and progressive civilization of must see the schools and speak to the scholars, he Eagland require other leaders, and they will be MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 125 found. The Palmerstonian era of smiling, sneer- than there are in mine Dives is the better man, and I lug do-nothing must give way to a real movement, know that broadcloth has a ioothing effect where kersey- A land in which the rich are constantly mere is simply exasperating; that silk has claims that de- growing lames can not dream of; hut I do not think that Adihead richer and the poor poorer is a pyramid standing ought to claim my seat merely because he and his friends more and more UI)OIi its apex. It will inevitably fancy it. topple over if it can not he adjusted according to Quite recently I sat in a car rattling homeward, and the law of gravity, two ladles behiud me began one of those conversations on personal character which are so interesting to the general THE Easy Chair has borne frequent testimony ill public. Not with subdued voices they spake, hut loud and shrill, to rise ahov.~ the clatter of the wheels. One t.he matter of railroad manners, and hears with syiji of the speakers was fair to view, and the other was a p~tthy the words of its friend A Disappointed Man, catamaran. Said the fair one with the golden water- lie tells a frequent tale. But we must all denounce fall: the managers of railroads for not providing cars Oh, they say she is dreadfully afraid of him! enough. It is oft n difficult to find any seat what- lies a brute! said the old lady. ever upon the great lutes. I cant abide bun! re-echoed her companion. He treats her sliockiegly; his children, too. The other day DEAU Ma. EASY CuAre,When we quietly submitted they were at our house, and she wanted to put a shawl on to be ruled by our lao erring sisters we had a great deal the chill ~in August), and he would not permit her, say- to say about plantation manners. We found fault with ing the child did not need it. Did you ever hear of any the insufferable insolence and assumption of peculiar rights thing so cruel? and privileges they arrogated to themselves, and, cravens Tue old lady responded with uplifted hands: speech though we were, indignantly protested against it, which was too poor to do justice to this art of barbarity. They was all very right and proper. I would like to ask, how- went on at a rapid rate macli longer to show how ill-bred ever, if plantation manners are any worse than railroad title person was, when the train slacked to stop at a sta- manners? We have railroad manners now, and very bad tion. In the seat just opposite an individual arose and ones at that. I ride often upon the rail, and there is bowed politely to these diosectors of character and said, scarcely a day that I do not blush for my countrymen (and simply, Ladies, I am umucht obliged to you! and walked p women) or feel indignant at the want of comnion courtesy away. It was a righteous retribution, for it was the dis. displayed. sected individual himself! Courtesy, Mr. Easy Chair, is the divine rigltt of every Can plantation manners show any thing ruder than one. titi? Railroad itmaitners of the present day are equal to Suppose that I live in YonkersI do not, however, but any emergency. I have seen persons wito no doubt move in New Jersey, which is a much nicer placeI am tired in respectable society cover the space around titem far and with my hard days work, and I am no sooner seated in near with saliva. On seine lines of road there seems to the cars than entem Adihead and three ladies in waterfalls, be a manly competition as to who shall spit the most in At the further end of the cams there are other seats which this shortest space of rime, and every passenger is obliged would romfortably accommodate this whole party. This to wade through to thte dry side. me of no moment, however, for Adlhtead has taken a fancy At Newark, New Jersey, there got Into the cars one to my seat and says, not blandly, Will you please take day a peson who hooked like a genthenman externally; snetiter seat to accommodate these ladle? that is to say, he itad nice clothes, fine linen, and Itecitllar It does not strike this individual that lie is taking an sleeve-buttons, and lie shortly began to give his politic I unwarrantable liberty with a stranger, that he lies no shad- opinions iii a F ud, donilneering tone, abmising every one ow of right in thus asking me to vacate my place. I have who differed frutm him by personalities. His line of argo- paid for it, I have preempted it by squatting on it; but ~nent consisted iii compa ing a ugger to a goat. By his lie brings a battery of waterfalls to bear on nie, and obliges side sat a ladya passengerwise endured the coarse Ian- me to succumbto meekly gather up my impedimenta and guage with evident disgust, and longed for some means of take another coiner, if haply there is one left by this escape, but none presented. Was not this too bad? and time, for the crowd rush in so fast that they are soon is it not a shanse for any person to comintenance such acts taken. lonce had the moral courage, Mr. Easy Chair, to re- by listeiting to the speaker? We laugh at Englishmen fuse a request hike the one recorded above. I said, I pre- for beitig so reserved when traveling; but would it not ferred to remain where I was. Do you think that Adhhtead be an improveunetit on railroad manners of the present bowed politely and sought some other place? Not his. He time if we were to imitate the English in this respect? I made an audible remark to the effect that boors who did desire to see every hiteolent passenger, eveny tobacco-spit- not know what good manners were oughit to be put in cars ting passenger, every indecent passemiger put out by the by themselves, and marched off In a huff. I agree with contductor or frowned down by the traveling public, and I his conclusion. I fully admit the claims of dress. I know hereby do my share of the frowning. that if there are more threads in one inch of Divess linen A DISAPPOINTED MAN. Thnnt~1ii 3t{crnr~ uf ~bThrrutt @n~nt~. UNITED STATES. OUR Record closes on the 3d of NovemberOn the 11th of October the President directed the release, on parole, of Alexander H. Stephens, of Georgia, late Vice-President; George A. Trenholm, of South Carolina, Secretary of the Treasury; John H. Reagan, of Texas, Postmaster-General of the late Confederacy; and John A. Campbell, of Alabama, and Charles Clark, of Mississippi, who were in cus- tody at Fort Warren. The order says that, where- as these persons Have made their submission to the authority of the United States, and applied to the Piesideot fan pamdon under his Proclamationt; end whereas the authority of the Federal Government is sufficiontly restomed in the afore- old States to admit of the enlargement of said persons from close custody, It Is ordered that they be released on giving their respective paroles to appeai at such time and place as the President mity designate to answer any charge that he may direct to be preferretl against them; and also that they will respectively abide until further orders in the places herein designated, and not depart therefrom; and if the President shall grant tie pardon to any of said persons such persons parole will thereby be discharged. The places of residence designated in this order are the States of which this persons respectively are citizens. Mr. Reagan, shortly before his release, is- sued an address to the people of Texas, from which we extract, with some abridgment, a few para- graphs. He says: Your condition as a people is one of novelty and ex- periment, involving the necessity of political, social, and I

Monthly Record of Current Events Monthly Record of Current Events 125-131

MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 125 found. The Palmerstonian era of smiling, sneer- than there are in mine Dives is the better man, and I lug do-nothing must give way to a real movement, know that broadcloth has a ioothing effect where kersey- A land in which the rich are constantly mere is simply exasperating; that silk has claims that de- growing lames can not dream of; hut I do not think that Adihead richer and the poor poorer is a pyramid standing ought to claim my seat merely because he and his friends more and more UI)OIi its apex. It will inevitably fancy it. topple over if it can not he adjusted according to Quite recently I sat in a car rattling homeward, and the law of gravity, two ladles behiud me began one of those conversations on personal character which are so interesting to the general THE Easy Chair has borne frequent testimony ill public. Not with subdued voices they spake, hut loud and shrill, to rise ahov.~ the clatter of the wheels. One t.he matter of railroad manners, and hears with syiji of the speakers was fair to view, and the other was a p~tthy the words of its friend A Disappointed Man, catamaran. Said the fair one with the golden water- lie tells a frequent tale. But we must all denounce fall: the managers of railroads for not providing cars Oh, they say she is dreadfully afraid of him! enough. It is oft n difficult to find any seat what- lies a brute! said the old lady. ever upon the great lutes. I cant abide bun! re-echoed her companion. He treats her sliockiegly; his children, too. The other day DEAU Ma. EASY CuAre,When we quietly submitted they were at our house, and she wanted to put a shawl on to be ruled by our lao erring sisters we had a great deal the chill ~in August), and he would not permit her, say- to say about plantation manners. We found fault with ing the child did not need it. Did you ever hear of any the insufferable insolence and assumption of peculiar rights thing so cruel? and privileges they arrogated to themselves, and, cravens Tue old lady responded with uplifted hands: speech though we were, indignantly protested against it, which was too poor to do justice to this art of barbarity. They was all very right and proper. I would like to ask, how- went on at a rapid rate macli longer to show how ill-bred ever, if plantation manners are any worse than railroad title person was, when the train slacked to stop at a sta- manners? We have railroad manners now, and very bad tion. In the seat just opposite an individual arose and ones at that. I ride often upon the rail, and there is bowed politely to these diosectors of character and said, scarcely a day that I do not blush for my countrymen (and simply, Ladies, I am umucht obliged to you! and walked p women) or feel indignant at the want of comnion courtesy away. It was a righteous retribution, for it was the dis. displayed. sected individual himself! Courtesy, Mr. Easy Chair, is the divine rigltt of every Can plantation manners show any thing ruder than one. titi? Railroad itmaitners of the present day are equal to Suppose that I live in YonkersI do not, however, but any emergency. I have seen persons wito no doubt move in New Jersey, which is a much nicer placeI am tired in respectable society cover the space around titem far and with my hard days work, and I am no sooner seated in near with saliva. On seine lines of road there seems to the cars than entem Adihead and three ladies in waterfalls, be a manly competition as to who shall spit the most in At the further end of the cams there are other seats which this shortest space of rime, and every passenger is obliged would romfortably accommodate this whole party. This to wade through to thte dry side. me of no moment, however, for Adlhtead has taken a fancy At Newark, New Jersey, there got Into the cars one to my seat and says, not blandly, Will you please take day a peson who hooked like a genthenman externally; snetiter seat to accommodate these ladle? that is to say, he itad nice clothes, fine linen, and Itecitllar It does not strike this individual that lie is taking an sleeve-buttons, and lie shortly began to give his politic I unwarrantable liberty with a stranger, that he lies no shad- opinions iii a F ud, donilneering tone, abmising every one ow of right in thus asking me to vacate my place. I have who differed frutm him by personalities. His line of argo- paid for it, I have preempted it by squatting on it; but ~nent consisted iii compa ing a ugger to a goat. By his lie brings a battery of waterfalls to bear on nie, and obliges side sat a ladya passengerwise endured the coarse Ian- me to succumbto meekly gather up my impedimenta and guage with evident disgust, and longed for some means of take another coiner, if haply there is one left by this escape, but none presented. Was not this too bad? and time, for the crowd rush in so fast that they are soon is it not a shanse for any person to comintenance such acts taken. lonce had the moral courage, Mr. Easy Chair, to re- by listeiting to the speaker? We laugh at Englishmen fuse a request hike the one recorded above. I said, I pre- for beitig so reserved when traveling; but would it not ferred to remain where I was. Do you think that Adhhtead be an improveunetit on railroad manners of the present bowed politely and sought some other place? Not his. He time if we were to imitate the English in this respect? I made an audible remark to the effect that boors who did desire to see every hiteolent passenger, eveny tobacco-spit- not know what good manners were oughit to be put in cars ting passenger, every indecent passemiger put out by the by themselves, and marched off In a huff. I agree with contductor or frowned down by the traveling public, and I his conclusion. I fully admit the claims of dress. I know hereby do my share of the frowning. that if there are more threads in one inch of Divess linen A DISAPPOINTED MAN. Thnnt~1ii 3t{crnr~ uf ~bThrrutt @n~nt~. UNITED STATES. OUR Record closes on the 3d of NovemberOn the 11th of October the President directed the release, on parole, of Alexander H. Stephens, of Georgia, late Vice-President; George A. Trenholm, of South Carolina, Secretary of the Treasury; John H. Reagan, of Texas, Postmaster-General of the late Confederacy; and John A. Campbell, of Alabama, and Charles Clark, of Mississippi, who were in cus- tody at Fort Warren. The order says that, where- as these persons Have made their submission to the authority of the United States, and applied to the Piesideot fan pamdon under his Proclamationt; end whereas the authority of the Federal Government is sufficiontly restomed in the afore- old States to admit of the enlargement of said persons from close custody, It Is ordered that they be released on giving their respective paroles to appeai at such time and place as the President mity designate to answer any charge that he may direct to be preferretl against them; and also that they will respectively abide until further orders in the places herein designated, and not depart therefrom; and if the President shall grant tie pardon to any of said persons such persons parole will thereby be discharged. The places of residence designated in this order are the States of which this persons respectively are citizens. Mr. Reagan, shortly before his release, is- sued an address to the people of Texas, from which we extract, with some abridgment, a few para- graphs. He says: Your condition as a people is one of novelty and ex- periment, involving the necessity of political, social, and I 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. industrial reconstruction; and this has to be done in op. the colored people in their persons and property, position to your education, traditional policy, sn(l prejo- and enabling them to collect their debts. Persons dices. You must recognize the necessity of niakiiig the most you can oat of your pre~eit condition, without the of color should be a(hinitted as witnesses, the value hope of doing all you might desire. The State occupies of their testimoiy, as iii the case of all others, to bs the position of a conquered uation. Iii order to secure to taken for what it is worthAnother conversation yourselves again the bleosings of local self-government, between the President and Mr. Stearns is specially and to avoid military rule and the danger of running into military despotism, you imist agree: notable fioni the f~ct that the report of it is certified First. To recognize the supreme authority of the Gov- by the Presidetit to be accurate. The President ertiment of the United States within thte sphtete of its pow- said that it was d~sirable that the uerk of recon- er, and its right to protect iteelt agahist disititegratioti h)y the secession of the States. And Second, You must rec- struction should be performed by the action of the ognize the abolition of slavery, and this tight of those who States themselves, that Its was equally opposed to have been slaves to this privileges and protection of the State Supremacyand to National Consolidation; that laws of this land. But even this may fail iii the attainmetit of these ends, it was better to leave the tjiiestion of the elective unless provision shall be made by this new Stats Govero- franchise to each State, stibject to National control ment for conferring the elective franchise on this former in case of palpably wrong action. If he were in slaves. And present appearances indicate that this will Tetmessee he should be in favor of Negro Suffrage, be required by Northern public sentiment and by Con- gress; and our peopie are in no condition to disregard with cerain cotiditions; but he thought that toni- that opinion or power with safety. But I am persnsdsd versa 1 stifira e in the late rebel States would pro you may satisfy both without fituthuer itojuries to yourselres tInes serious difficulties. He was, however, in favor than has already occurred. If you cati do this atid secure of ul tinuately apport to yourselves liberty, this protection of this Constitution - ioning representation according and laws of this United States, and this right of local self- to lie number of qoahified voters, which would af- government, you will be titoro fortunate titan many other ford strong reasotis for tlte re-constructed States ho conquered peopie have besut. extend the basis of suffrage so as tint to exclude per Mr. Reagan atiticipates a stuhiborn and sincere suits oh colorThe general policy of this President, resistance to conferring the elective fraitchuise upon althtough it has never been formally announced, may the former shaves, Isut thinks the thiffictulties in this be gathered from a careful examination of his sep- way of this are not insuperable. He suggests that arate acts and declarations. This policy meets the this can hue done with safety b, approval of the entire people of thie country, with First, extending thus privhhrges and puotection of thus the exception of a few men of extreme views upon laws over the negroes as they are ovet this whites, and al. eithrr side. Its leading features are thrse: lowing thuens to testify its the conuts on thus same condi. The Natiotual Government, in its sphere, as de- lions; hetuving their testimouty subject to this ruihes rehat fined hut- the Cuuuustit ution is paramount to the re lug to its credibility, butt not objecting to its adotissibihity. I - Sscosud, fixing an intellectual md mormul, and, if thought sprctivs State Goveruuments.No Slate can law- necessary, a p:operuy test, fur this tudmission of till pOusiulis fully secede from the Uttion: consequently all the to this exercise of this elective franchise, without reference - to race or cutler, which would secure its intelligent exet- so-called orditiances of secession are, ipsofucfo, null dee. My own view would be: First, That ni pdrsun itusue awl told, and must be so considered and formally entitled to the privilege if voting shuutuld be deisrired of it acknowl dged; therefore, all debts and ohiligations because of auty new test. Se suid, That to suithuotize thus orted to be cots trarted b any State to atd the adnuissioti of persons huersuifter to this exercise of this sUch- lion are of iso force, and must be fuirm-ully pro. ive fuatuchise, they shoulil be nuahes, tuventy-otue years of tugs, citizens of Ihe Utuited States; shuoutid have reoided%iuu nounced so to beSlavery is lawfully abolished this State otis yeuur, anul in this distuict, county, or precituct in all of this States formerly iii rebellion; and this six months next preceding any election at which this - pro- I fact must hue recogui pose to vote; shuotuld be ibis to reaul in the English ian- - xed and affirmed its their Con guags tmnderstandingly; and ustust humive puid taxes fur thus soututioussThe freedmen must be protected in their last year prucedhng for whuichi ouch taxes were dute and civil and persousal rightsThe qumestion of the ex- payuuble; stubject to any disqutalification fit criuuuc, ruf whicit hetusion to thsens of thus right of suffrage should be this person may have been duily convicted, wluicut mututy be left to this set-oral States, each acting for itself; but prescribed by ~aw. the ptulicv of Ohio General Government, so far as it After discussing at length several topics of local I insportance, Mr. Reagaus concludes can ptuuporlv act its this matter, should favor the ex- teussion of this right to such of the freedmen as are Anti we must bury past anituosities with tisose of our capable of properlo exercisitug it. The general fellow-citizens with whom we hive been at wuir, anti ruth- amusuis sty to persons engaged in thus late rebellion tivate with them feelings of uusuittual chuat-ity arid fiateinuth shoal ul be as inroad as possible; and pardons, in good-will. And it will be greuttly to youur edvuinteg-. hut -many ways which I can not trespass out yuuuu to rn nlhumi special cases not embraced in the general amusesty, anus, to hold omit inducements to them, amuul to enuigrummuts ebtiuld tue gratuteth whenever consistent with the pub from other conuntries, to conue and settle uumong you s-hilt lic welfare. their labor and skill and capital, to assist in thus uhiffiusion I of employments, this increase of your popumlatiout, amid thus This No t/e Gomo~issa Convention assembled at development of youur vast resources into new creutious of Raleigh on tlse 2d of October Mr. Heulden, the wealth and power. Provisional Governor, sent in a nsf message stat- On the 13th of October aus interview was held be- ing that this doles of that body were too plain to tween the President and a conumittee appointed by require aisy suggestions from him. North Carolina, the South Carolina Conveistion to solicit the pardon he said, attempted, in Mumy, 1861, to separate her- of Messrs. Davis. Stephens, and others. The Presi- self fro:um the Federal Union. The attempt involved dent said, in reply to thus request: That all could her in a disastrous war. She entered lbs rebellion not be paruloned at once; that discrinuination unumet a elaveholding Stats, and she eismsrged fuom it a be exercised, depending mutch upon locality and cIr- non-slsuveholdin~ State; in other respects, so far cumetances; if treason tvas committed, there ought as her existence as a State, and her rights as a to be seine test to determine the power of the Gov- State are concerns d. she has umudergone no change. eminent to pumuish the crime; the fact ought to be He takes it for granted that the Convention would deterusiused by lbs highest tribunal of the land, and imusert in the Constitution a prot-isioms forever abol- declared, even if clemency should come afterward. ishing slavery its the State.The most important In the cotirse of informal conversation the President hsusiness before the Convention was the form in urged that the South ought to pass laws profeetitug which the omdinance of secession should be abro MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 127 gated; the form in which the ordinance for the The Georgia State Convention assembled at Mu- abolition of slavery should be couched; and the ac- ledgeville on the 25th of October. Herschell V. tion to be taken upon the war-debt of the State. Johnson, in 1800 the Democratic nominee for Vice- The repealing ordinance was passed unanimously in President of the United States upon the Douglas the following terms: ticket, was elected President of the Convention. The ordinance of the Convention of the State of North We have as yet only brief telegraphic dispatches Carolina, ratified on the 21st dayof November, 1789, which of the proceedings of this Convention, and defer to adopted and ratified the Constitution of the United States, a future Number an account of its proceedings, and also all acts, and parts of acts of the General Assem- bly, ratifying and adopting amendments to said Consli- meriy noting that ihe repeal of the ordinance of muon, are now, and at all tinses since the adopalon and sccession and the prohibition of slavery seem to ratification thereof, have been in foil force and effect, tioG have been assumed as matters of course; ~ud that withstanding the suppose I ordinance Lf the ~tltla of May, 13151, declaring the same to be r.paled, rescinded, and i the main subject of discussion appears to have been abrogated; and the said oupposed ordinance is now, and whether the rebel war debt, amounting to about at all limes bath bea n, null and void. $18,0(l0,000, should be recognized. The Provision- The ordinance for the abrogation of Slavery reads al Governor lied been officially notified through the simply as follows: S cretary of State that Ba it declared and ordained by the delegates of the The President of the United States can not recognize Stats of North Carolins, iii Convention assembled, and it is hereby declared and ordained, That Slavery and invol- tlm~ people of any State sa having resumed the relations untary servitude, otherwise than for crimea whereof the of loyalty to time Union that adnaits as legal obligations or debts contracted in their names to promote tIme war of party shall have been duly convicted, shall be, and is liars- the rebellion. by forever prohibited in the Stale. An ordinance was passed, the precise form of General Humphreys, formerly of the Confederate which has not reached us, prohibiting any future army, has been elected Governor of Mississippi. In Legislature from assuming or paying ant State debt his inaugural address he says that lie himself had created directly or indirectly for tile purpose of aid- always believed that no one or more States could log the rebellion. There appears to have been a constitutionally sever the ties that unite the people strong disposition in the Convention to avoid the of the several States into one people : yet a dif- passage of such an ordinance, or at all events to re- fereutt doctrine was taught in the early stages of fer it to the popular vote. The action of the Con- our Government, and was maintained by sonas of vention seems to have been determined hay a tele- the brightest intellects and most illustrious patriots gram from President Johnson to Goverumor Holden, I that adorn our political history. It is to be regret- in which he save: ted that this school of politicians could not have Every dollar of the State debt created to aid time re- found a better mode for solving the question than hellion against the United States should be repudiated by the arbitrament of war. But, continues Gov finally and forever. lbs great mamass of time people should (we quote textually a few of the not be taxed to pay a debt to aid in carrying (an a rebellion ernor Humphroys to wiaich they, in fact, if left to them ely s, ivere opposed. most important passages in his addiess): Let those who have given theim means faar alas chug atiens Time qm of time State look to that power they tried to establish in mestion was thus referred, and has been decided viaalaation of law, Constitution, and the selil of the peapi aainst me by a tribunal fiom mvhichi there is no appeal. lhmey must meet tush fats. It is their misfostaune, and I ti me peep1e of the Stats of Mississippi, acknowledging the can not be recognized by time people of any Stat pofe . decision, desire to return to time Union and renew their smiling fealty to the Constitution of time Uaited States... .if on thsm~elves loyal to time Govermmnasut of time United States aol to this Union. - flinching fidelity in wam gives evidenca of reliable fidelity in peace, time peopie of the South may be safehy trusted The Convention adjourned on the 19th of Octo- when timey profess more than willingness to return to their ber, Judge Reads, the Passident, delivering a fare- allegiance. The Soumth, Imaving ventured all on the arbit- well address, in which lie said: ranmeuat of time swomd, has lost all save her honor, and now Oumr work is finished. Tue bmeach in the Govern- accepts time reainmmit in good faith. It is our dainty to address otarselves to the pronmotien of peace and order, to the res- ment, as fair as this sanas was by force, has been 5 erconme tomation of law, time faith of the Constilmation, anal the eta- by force; and so fair mis the same has had the sanction of bihity of tie Cumioum; to cultivate amicable mehations with legi-lauion, this legislation has been declared to be naill oumr sister States, mind establish our agricultural and com- and void. So that there remains nothing to be dons ex- mercial prosperity upon more durable foundations, trust- cept time withadrawal of military pawein avimen all our gov- in that this lessons taumghit by the rebellion will nut be erummental relations will be restoined, w~ithoamt further ask- last sitimer to time Nairtim om time Soumth... .Thie State of Mim- ing, on time part of this United States. The element of sissippi has alusady, under the pre~sure of the result of slaveuy, which hias so long distuacted and divided the see- time waau, by liner oaen solemn ict, abohiolsed slavery. It tions, ham by a unainaimonas vote been abolished. Every womuld be hypocritical aumal umauprofibable to attempt to per- man in this Stats is free. The reluctamice which for a while sumade thins worlal that shie has domme so wihhimigly. It is due, was felt to the sudden and radical change in sum domestic hiovever, to liner huonoin to shouv by hem finintumme ecuirse that relationsa reluctance which was made oppressive to mis alas laws done so in good fuilub, and tumat slaivery sianhi never by our kind feelings for this slave, amid by onin apprehen- I again exist within her borders, under whiatever name or shone of the evils which were to follow hahnlies yielded to guise it may be attempted. Time sudden emancipation of the determination to be to him, as we always have been, hein slaves has devolved upon liner this huigluest responsibihi- his best friends; to advise, protect, educate, and elevate ties and dainties. Sevemal hundred theausand of this negino him; tins seek his confidence, and to give him ours, each race, unfitted for political ea~ininallty with this white race, occupying appropriate positions to the other It re- have been tumned loose upon society; and in this gmmard- mains for us to returini to our constituents and engage hanship she niay assume over this race she must deal juist- with them in time great work of restoring our behoved Stats I ly within them, and protect them imi all their rights of per- to order and prosperity. I son and property. This highest degmee of elevation in this An election has been ordered by Governor Hol- scale of civilization of which they are capable, morally den, to be heul on the 9th of November, to vote upon and intellectually, must be secured to thena by their edo- I cation and ehigioums training; but they can not be admit- the ratification or rejection of the ordinance abro- ted to political or social equality with time white race. It gating the ordinance of secession, and of the ordi- is due to oummelves, to the white emigrant invited to our nance abolishing and prohibiting slavery; and for shores, to maintain this faict that ours is and shall ever be a governoment of white men. the choice of Governor, members of the General Assembly, county officers, and mambers of Coum- Governor Humphreye goes on to say that the ne- grass. The ordinance prohibiting the assumption gin is peculiarly adapted to the cultivation of the of the rebel Stats debt is absolute, and is not re- great staples of the Soinuth; that he shoumld he en ferred to the people. couraged to work by being protected against injos 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tice from his employer; that he should be free to choose his own labor and make his own bargains; but he must choose some employment that will sup- port himself and his family. The employer also should be assured that the work agreed upon shall be performed; and if the laborer attempts to escape he should be returned to his employer and be forced to work until the time for which he contract- ed has expired. The Governor urges that the State should make provision for the disabled soldiers of the Confederacy. for their families, and for the fami- lies of those who have fallen. LIe says: To Mis- sissippi alone can they look for assistance. Whether it was right or wrong to call the soldiers to arms, it can not be wrong to make such provisioni for them as will relieve them and their families from want and suffering, and secure to their children the bene- fits of education. Justice and gratitude demand it; honor and magnanimity will bestow it. An important question will come up for decision at the assembling of Congress on the first Monday of December. A number, perhaps all, of the South- ern States will have elected members of Congress. By the Constitution each House is the judge of the elections, qualifications, and returns of its own members ; and, by law, the clerk of the preceding House of Representatives is to make out the roll of persons elected to that body, and only those whose names are on that roll can act until the House has been organized. On the 2d of July. 1862, aim Act of Congress prescribed that every member should take an oath containing this clatmse~ I do solemnly swear that I have never voluntarily borne anna against the United States since I have been a citizen thereof; that t have voluntarily given no aid, ceuntenanre, counsel, or enceuragement to persons en- gaged in armed hostility thereto;... . that I have never yielded a voluntary support to any pretended Govern- ment, Authority, Power, or Constitution within the Unit- ed States, hostile or inimical thereto. Very few, if any, of the memb~rs elected from the Southern States can truthfully take this oath. The case is fairly stated by Mr. Alexander II. h-I. Stuart, Secretary of the Interior in Mr. Fillmores Administration, and recently elected to Congress from Virginia. He states that for two years before the rupture he devoted all his energies to the work of preserving the Union; that in 1861, as member of the Senate of that State and of the Convention, he spoke and voted to the last against the ordinance of secession; that after it was passed and ratified by the people, he signed it. not because he approved it, but because he felt it his duty to authenticate the act of his constituents; but that he refused to change his negative vote; and after the close of the Convention retired to private life, and neither sought nor held any public position during the war; and after the surrender of General Lee he was among the first to take measures for the restoration of the relations of Virginia to the Union. But, says Mr. Stuart, after all my counsels had been overrulel, and all my kindred had become involved in the death-struggle, my sympathies were with my own people, and in common with the large major- ity of the men of character and respectability in the South, I gave aid, countenance, and encouragement in every way I could to my gallant though mis- guided countrymen. He goes on to say that dur- log the war every able-bodied male between the ages of seventeen and fifty was declared by the Conscrip- tion Act to be in the Confederate army, and that those who were disqualified by bodily infirmity were not exempt, but assigned to light duty; so that the entire male population of the South, between those ages, was engagetl in armed hostility against the United States, and thus incurred time penalty of disfranchisement. Under the Conscription law, he says, my eldest son, five of my nephews, three brothers-in-law, arid probably thirty other relatives were required to go into the arms, and were thus in ariiied hostility to the United States. To these and their comrades he had given food, shelter, clothing, arid other necessaries, and had thus placd himself beyond the exclusion preocribed by the words and letter of the law. If this law is carried out to the letter he says, there are few in Vir- ginia who are qualifiedI will not say to represent her peoplebut to fill her places in Congress or any other position under the Government. Assuming the elaborate argument of Mr. Stuart to the con- trary notwithstandingthat this test oath is con- stitutional, it is a grave question whether it should now be exacted. lie urges that it was a war measure, intended to keep out disaffected persons during the war, not to establish a basis of recon- struction after the war; and that now, the war being over, the Southern States having given in their adhesion to the Union, accepted the results of the war, and upon the invitation of the Repub- lican Administration, having conformed, or being about to conform, their Legislation and their State Constitutions to the new state of affairs, with the understanding that the Southern States were to lie restored to their ancient relations of fraternity and equality in the Union, it would not be fair dealing with the Southern States to meet them at the threshold of Congress, and at every department of the Government, with a disfranchisement which wimuld exclude from every public trust probably nmineteen-twentieths of the Southern population. He says that~ When the Seuth accepted the proposition for reunion, it was for reunion under the Constitution. No other ne- u;iion ought to he desired by a magnanimous victor, and no tluer would be productive of that permanent harmony and of those sul)stantial benefits which we alt hope to at- tain by it. I think, therefore, that justice and sound policy require that this test oath should be put aside as othem portions of the machinery of the war have been put aside. The questions to be decided are, whether, in the outset, Mr. MPherson, the Clerk of the last House, his the legal rightand, if having the right, wheth- er he shall exercise itof deciding upon the valid- ity of the credentials of members elected from the States lately in rebellion, and so admitting them to or excluding them from taking part in organizing the House; and then, supposing them to be admit- ted, whether the inability of men like Mr. Stuart to take the test oath shall vacate their seats; or whether this oath shall be rescinded or modified. In case they are admitted by the decision of the Clerk, or otherwisa, at the outset, these members will have the right to vote upon the subsequent question of tIme oath, upon which will depend their right to the seats occupied by them. The recent State elections at the North, as far as yet held, have been favoratule to the Union par- ty. In Pena~ylceaie their majority reaches nearly 30,000, the prominent office to be filled being that of State Auditor. In Ohio the Union candidate for Goveynor had nearly 25,000; and in Iowa about 16,000 majority. In Mississippi General B. G. H umphreys, late of the Confederate army, has been elected Governor. We have given extracts from his inaugural address. Immediately upon his election MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 129 he was pardoned by the President. In S~utA car- olina the contest for Governor between Mr. Orr and General Wade Hampton was very close. By the latest accounts it appears that the former has been elected by a small majority. Mr. MCulloch, Secretary of the Treasury, made, October 11, an elaborate speech at Fort Wayne, In- diana, in which he advocated a reduction in the cur- rency and a speedy return to specie payments. The October return of the condition of the national debt, as compared with that for September, is as follows: Total Debt. Interest. September 31 $2,744,947,726 $131,529,216 October 31 ... 2,740,854,158 138,938,018 Decrease.. .$4,092,J68 lncrea8e. . $1,408,863 There is now in the Treasury $34,554,987 in coin, and $33,800,591 in currency. The amount of legal- tender notes in circulation is $633,709,591. The Fenian movement continues to attract con- siderable attention. A Congress composed of 600 delegates from the Brotherhood assembled at Philadelphia, October16. The proceedings of the body wero mainly conducted with closed doors. It is clear that considerable quantities of arms and sums of money are accumulating in the hands of the leaders of the Order. In Canada grave apprehen- sions are entertained that an attempt will be made by the Fenians upon the British Provinces. In what manner this organization proposes to carry out its purposes, and the means at its command, are still, to a great extent, matters of conjecture. ~n elaborate discussion has taken place between the Government of the United States and that of Great Britain, involving the most important rela- tions between the two nations growing out of the late rebellion. This correspondence, conducted by Mr. Adams, our Minister to Great Britain, and Earl Russell, the British Foreign Secretary, covers a space of more than five months, Mr. Adamss first letter being dated April 7, and his last September 18, 1865. The possible importance of this corre- spondence warrants us in giving at some length the principal points brought forward on each side: April 7.Mr. Adams wrote to Earl Russell setting forth the depredations committed upon the commerce of the United States by the vessel known in the port of London as the Sea King, but since transformed into the Shenadoeh. lie therefore announces that his Gov- ernment can not avoid entailing upon the Government of Great Britain the responsibility of this daretage. He then alludes to the fact that the British steamer City of Richmond has been suffered to transport men and supplies from London to the French-built ram Olinthe, subsequent- ly by fraud transformed into theConfederate Stonewall. He acknowledges that the British Government has en- deavored to put a stop to these outrages, but maintains that the hostile policy which it has been the object of all this labor to prevent, has not only not been checked, but is even now going into execution with more and more complete success. This policy, being substantially the destruction of the whole sseercentiie navigation belossging to the people of the United States, has so far succeeded that the United States commerce is rapidly vanishing from the face of the ocean, and that of Great Britain zs multiplying in nearly the same ratio, and this process is going on by reason of the action of British subjects in co-operation evith emissaries of the insurgents, who have supplied vessels, armaments, and men. There is, says Mr. Adams, in the history of the world no parallel case to this of endus-ance of one notion of injury done to it by another without bringing on the gravest complica- tions ; and that no such event has followed has been ow- ing to the conviction that the British Government has been animated by no aggressive disposition toward the United States, but has endeavored to prevent the malev- olent operations of many of its subjects. While doing full justice to the amicable intentions of liar Majestys Ministers, Mr. Adams declares his belief that practically this evil had its origin in the first step taken which can never be regarded by my Government in VOL. XXXII.No. 157.I any other light than asprecipitate, of acknowledging per- sons as a belligerent Power on the ocean, before they had a single vessel of their own to show floating upon it; and thus that this Power, as a belligerent upon the ocean, was actually cteated in consequence of this recognition, and not before; and all the success which it has attained on the ocean has been owing to British aid; so that the Kingdom of Great Britain cast not but be regarded as not only having given birth to this naval belligerent, but also of having stsersed and maintained it to the present hour. Mr. Adams then goes on to say that whatever maybe the vaiidity of the grounds upon which tise British Government Itave hitherto rested their defense against any responsi- bility for the avis, these are now invalid by the practical reduction of all tite penis heretofore held by the insur- gents; and that therefore the President looks with con- fidence to Her Majestys Government for an early and ef- fsictual removal of all existing causes of complaint on this score, and that the foreign commerce of the United States may be freed from annoyance from the injurious acts of any of Her Majestys subjects, perpetrated under the semblance of belligerent rights. Mr. Adams closes this letter by stating that during the whole war British vessels have had free pratique in the waters of the United States; and says that in the opinion of the President the time has come when the reciprocity in these hospitalities should be restored. The navy of the United States will probably soon be augmented, and he is directed to ask as to the reception which these vessels map expect in the ports of the British Kingdom. May 4.Earl Russell replied to this note of Mr. Adams. He states in the outset that he can never admit that the duties of Great Bsitain to rd the Ussited States are to be measured by the losses which the United States have sus- tained. The only question was whether the Govern- ment of her Majesty have performed faithfully and hon- estly the duties which international law and their own municipal law imposed upon them. He then goes on to say that the war, in the prepare. tion of whicit Great Britain had no share, caused nothing but detriment to Her Majestys subjects, who had previ- ously carried on a profitable commerce with the Southern States of the Union. Had tisere been no war the trestles with the United States would have secured the existence of this lucrative commerce. But the President of the United States proclaimed a blockade ot the ports of seven States of the Union; and, argues Earl Russell, he could tawfullyinterrupt the trade of neutrals with the Southern States upon one ground only, ssamely, that the Southerso States were carrying on war against the Government of the United States; in other words, that they were bellig- erents. The British Government must then pursue one of two courses; acknowledge the blockade, and proclaim neutrality; or refuse to acknowledge it, and insist upon the right of British subjects to trade with the ports of the South. They chose the former course as at once thee most just and friendly to the United States. it was, Earl Russell affirms, pour own Government which, in assum- ing the belligerent right of blockade, recognized the South- ern States as belligerents. Earl Russell then goes on to discuss the complaints agaiciti the British Government for permitting the egress of vessels built in English ports, and afterward equipped with an armament sent from the British coasts. in the case of the Alabama he says tisat Mr. Adams furnished on the 22d, and more ftthly on the 24th of May, 1882, some evidence that this vessel was being equipped for the Con- federate service. This evidence was reported upon on tlse 29th by the law officers; but on that very morning the vessel was taken to sea on the false pretense of a trial- trip ; and although the evidence furnished a sufficient ground for detaining the Alabama, It was yet doubtful whether it would have been found sufficient to procure a conviction from a jury, or even a charge in favor of con- demnation of the vessel from a judge. The Shenandoah had been, under the name of the Sea King, a merchant- vessel; was sold to a merchant, and cleared for China as a merchant-ship; no evidence was produced that she was intended for Confederste service. Earl Russell refers to the action of the British Government in detaining the ves- sels El Tousson and El Monassir: for this they were charged, upon high authority, with having acted illegally, unjustifiably, and without excuse. Though that charge was unfounded, nothing but the intimate conviction that those vessels were tittended for Confederate vessels of war, that unless detained they would attempt to break the blockade of the United Slates squadrons, and that such an act might have produced the gravest complications, could have sustained the Government under the weight of the charges thus urged. In thtese cases, and in all others, Earl Russell contends that Her Majestys Governnwnt faithfully perforneed their obligations as neutrals. Earl Russell enters upon an elaborate historical argo. 0 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ment to show that in 18151820, the Government of the United States, especially in the case of Portugal, took the same ground as that which it now condemns in the case of Great Britain. The gesential points of this statement are that at this period privateers fitted oht in the United States depredated upon the comsnerce and territory of Portugal, and that in answer to demands of reparation hy the Portuguese Government, John Qnincy Adams, then Secretary of State, replied in suhetance that the Govern- ment of the United States having used all means to pre- vent the fitting out of such vessels to theirports, can not consider itself hound to indemnify individual foreigners for losses hy capture over which the United States have neither control or jurisdiction; and, For any acts of the citizens of the United States, committed out of their jisris- diction and beyond their control, the Government of the United States is not responsible. That the United States are pledged to this view, which Is claimed to he Identical with that now held hy the British Government, is further supported hy other casesthis of Portugal being, however, the most important. Earl Russell asksthe form of the question implying a negative answer: Is her Majestys Government to assume or be liable to a responsibility for conduct which her Majestys Government did all in their power to present and to punish Fa responsibility which Mr. Adams, on the part of the United States Government, in the case of Portugal, positively and firmly declined. To the question whether American vessels-of-war should he treated in British ports as British vessels-of-war are in American ports, Earl Russell replies that this shah he done with the single exception that if an enemys vessel-of- war should come into the same port, the vessel which shall first leave shall not be pursued by the enemy till twenty- four hours shall have elapsed. Before answering the question whether Confederates are still to he treated as helligerents, Earl Russell wishes to know whether the United States are prepared to put an end to the belligerent rights of search and capture of British vessels on the high seas. Upon the answer to this question depends the course which her Majestys Government will pursue. May 20.Mr. Adams replied to the foregoing letter. After recapitulating the points in his former note of April 7, he shows that at the time of the American revolution the British Government, taking the precise opposite of its present position, made it a ground of war against Holland and France that they had done just what the British Gov- ernment had done in the present case. Then passing to the question of the Alabama, Mr. Adams shows that this vessel was suffered to escape to sea In spite of promises, express and implied, that this should not he permitted, and under circumstances which look almost as if it were intended as a positive insult; and moreover afterward she was in British ports every where hailed with joy, and treated with hospitality as a legitimate cruiser. Mr. Adams therefore reaffirms the validity of the claims of the Government of the United States for all the damage done by this vessel during her career, and asks reparation theref or. In answer to the argument of Earl Russell, drawn from the case of Portugal and the United States, Mr. Adams shows that the United States not only did all in its power to execute the laws already existing to prevent the aggres- sions complained of, hut passed new ones, amply sufficient, and satisfactory to the Portuguese Government, to remedy the defects of the old ones. This action Is contrasted with that of the British Government, which formally declared that It had finally determined to rely upon the existing statutes as quite effective to answer this desired purpose. Mr. Adams concludes this long and elaborate dispatch hy affirming the conclusion that, The nation that recog- nized a Power as a belligerent before it had built a ves- sel, and became itself the source of all the belligerent char- acter it has ever possessed on the ocean, must be regarded as responsible for all the damage that has ensued from that cause to the commerce of a Power with which it was under the most sacred obligations to preserve amity and peace. Aug. 30.Earl Russell purposely, as he says, took almost three and a half months to reply to the foregoing note of Mr. Adams. Then, after much diplomatic com- plisnenting and controversy, he refers to a proposition made by Mr. Adams almost two years before (October 23, 1863), that the matters in question should be referred to the arbitration of some neutral Power. The final answer is clear and decisive: Her Majestys Government must decline either to make reparation and compensation for the captures made by the Alabama, or to refer the ques- tion to any foreign state; but, It Is added, the British Government is ready to consent to the appointment of a Commission to which will be referred all claims aris- ing d,ering the late civil war which the two Powers shall agree to refer to the Commissioners. This letter con- tains an abundance of complimentary remark upon the success of this United States (then ach*we.d)5 con~atula- tious upon the overthroV. of slavery, of-which the Brit- ish nation have always entertained and still entertain the deepest abhorrence ; and refers to the assurances fre- quently given by Mr. Adams that he has never permit.. ted himself to doubt the favorable disposition of the Queens Ministers to maintain amicable relations with ibe Govern- ment of the United States... .and that It has steadily en- deavored to discountenance, and In a measure t~ check, the injurious operations of many of Her Majestys sub- jects, notwithstanding the efforts with which public writers and speakers have endeavored to poison the pub- lic mind In this United States, and to produce ill-will and hatred between the two nations. Sept. 18.Mr. Adams replied, reiterating his belief in the riendlyinten tions of the Biitish Government. Lint he adds, significantly: Inasmuch as the relations be- tween nations, not less than between Individuals, must depend upon the mode in which they fulfill their obliga- tions toward each other, rather than upon their motives, the questions which have grown out of the events of this late war appear to lose little of their gravity from any reciprocal disavowal, however complete, of any ill-will on the part .of the respective governments. He then pro- ceeds, at great length, to re-argue the points in controversy, declaring that upon the correct decision of them may depend the security which the commerce of belligerents will hereafter enjoy upon the high seas against the hazard of bein1s swept from them through the acts of nations professtnq to be neutral, and bound to be friendly. lie asks the British Foreign Secretary to consider which of the nations of the world present on every sea around the globe the most tempting prizes In the event of a war. He says that if the principles maintained by the British Government should be adopted as a part of the code of in- ternational law, a new era in the relations of neutrals to belligerents on the high seas will open. Neutralports still before long become the true centres from which the most effective and dangerous entei~prises against the cennmerce of belligerents may be contrived, fitted out, and executed. Ships, men, and money will always be at haudfor the service of any Power sufficiently strong to hold forth the probability of repayment in any form New Florida., Alabama., and Shenandoahe will appear on every sea ; and, adds Mr. Adams, if such be the recog- nized law, I will not undertake to ajlrm that the country which 1 have the honor to represent would not, in the end, be as able to accommodate itself to the new circum-. stances as Great Britain. In regard to the proposal of Earl Russell for a Commis- sion to adjudicate upon such questipus as may. be sub- mitted to them, Mr. Adams simply tays that it will be laid before the Government of the United States, whose instructions he awaits before returning a reply. Mr. Adams, after briefly alluding to the general tone and cur- rent of British feebug and action during the war of four years, concludes by saying, With my Government, as with my countrysnen at large, there is still left a strong sense of injured feeling which only time, and the hopes of a better understanding in future held out by the conesl,- atory strain of your Lordships note are likely to correcU Two of the questions involved in this discussion have been settled by the logic of events: the over- throw of the Confederacy involves the abrogation of the belligerent rights accorded to its vessels; and also removes the reasons alleged for the restric- tions imposed upon American men-of-war in Brit- ish ports; and this removal has been formally an- nounced. But the main question remains unsettled. The correspondence is eminently courteous in tone; but divested of all formal, complimentary, and argu- mentative matter, the case stands thus: The Gov- ernment of the United States formally claims that Great Britain is responsible for all damages inflicted upon onr commerce by vessels claiming to be Con- federate, yet built, equipped, and manned in and from Great Britain. The British Government as formally refuses to admit the validity of this claim, or to submit it to the arbitration of any foreign Power. And in proposing to submit certain ques- tions to the decision of a Commission, the British Government formally excludes the main question at issue. The British Government, it says, in ef- fect, can not submit to any other authority the de- cisien of the propriety of its own acts. EDITORS DRAWER. 131 SOUTHERN AMERICA. In Ilayti the attempted revolution against the Government of President Geifrard appears to have been suppressed; Cape Haytien, the only point really held by the insurgents, having been surren- dered. From Mexico the accounts are, as usual, contra- dictory, and only partiaUj reliable. The indica- tions are that the balance of success is still largely in favor of the Imperialists, and that the Juarez Government is practically put down. The Im- perial Government of Maximilian, it is equally clear, is kept in place only by foreign force. The contest is now simply a guerrilla warfare, marked by the utmost atrocities on both sides. The Im- perial Government has inaugurated measures to in- vite foreign emigration into Mexico, sad has con- fided the management of the business to Matthew F. Maury, once Superintendent of the National Oh- servatorv at Washington, and J. B. Magruder, both lately in the Confederate service. In the region of the River Plate the Paraguayans appear to have suffered considerable reverses; but the details are too vague to be noted at length. It is said that at Yatay (18th of August) 3000 Pars- guayans were literally annihilated by the allied Brazilians and Argentines; and that 7000 more, surrounded by 20,000 enemies, were momentarily expected to surrender. On the other hand, the Brazilian fleet is said to have suffered severely in an attempt to pass batteries erected by the enemy to prevent their descent down the river. EUROPR Lord Palmerston (Henry John Temple), the Brit- ish Premier, died on the 18th of October. He was born October 20, 1784, and so lacked but two days of having completed his 81st year. Although born in England he was of a family long established in Ireland, where most of their estates lay. His title, to which he succeeded in 1802, was an Irish one, not constitutIng him a peer of the realm. He was strictly a Commoner. His political life covers nearly sixty years, he having been elected to Par- liament in 1806. We enumerate the principal posts which he held during this long period, without at- tempting to present the party changes with which they were connected. In 1807 he was a Junior Lord of the Admiralty; from 1809 to 1828 Secre- tary at War; from 1830 to 1841, with few inter- vals, and afterward from 1845 to 1852, Foreign Secretary; from 1853 to 1855 Home Secretary; from 1855 to 1857 Premier, and again on the down- fall of the Derby Administration in June, 1859, Premier until the time of his death. His general pelitical character has been briefly sketched in an- other part of this Magazine.Earl Russell was called upon to fill the place of Lord Palmerston and to construct a new Cabinet. This appears to be a mere temporary measure, since, apart from other considerations, the Earl is nearly 75 years old. As far as we can judge, it appears to be an almost foregone conclusion that Mr. Gladstone will soon be called upon to fill the post of British Prem- ier. A disease among cattle, designated as the Ilinder- pest ( Cattle-Plague), has broken out in portions of Europe, especially in Great Britain.The chol- era is slowly advancing in various directions. In and about Paris many deaths have occurred. But beyond the immediate basin of the Mediterranean it has not as yet assumed a very virulent form. Gib- raltar has suffered severely. All intercourse be- tween thatBritish strong-hold and the adjacent Span- ish main land having been prohibited, the people have endured much from famine as well as from pestilence. In Turkey the disease has subsided. The season has so far advanced that little danger is apprehended from the further advance of the disease at present. But grave fears are entertained for the approaching spring and summer. @~Ii{Ot7~ ~Urnawr. BEGINNING a new Volume, the Drawer re- members with pleasure all the yeari~, the many merry years it has had with the readers of Ilarper.s Monthly. Through the long and weary war the Drawer ever kept up good heart, and many a soldiers hearty laugh and cheerful smile were due to the good things he found in these bright pages. And now, in these piping times of peace, the Drawer rejoices with all the rest of mankind, and peeps on in the even tenor of its good old wayon~m of the institutions of the land. TOM MARSHALLS putting down the man at Buf- falo who cried louder while Tem was speaking is often told, but the following is as new as true: At a great pelitical meeting Tom began his speech, and had made but little progress until he was assailed with a torrent of abuse by a man from the Bull Run District. Not at all disconcerted Tom sung out at the top of his voice, Be jabers thats me fren Patrick Murphythe ihan that spells God with a little G, and Murphy with a big MI If Pat had any elevated ideas of his smartness, the roars of laughter that greeted this shot must hsive caused him to doubt the propriety of giving words to more. THE following comes to us from Dobbs Ferry, on the Hudson: At Atlanta, Georgia, where I was recently, an elderly colored woman of the true Southern type thus addressed me: Can you tell me, Sah, whar the Freedmans Bureau Co. is ? I answered in the affirmative, and as I was going to the same place told her to accompany me. On our arrival she inquired of the officer in charge if this was the Freedmans Bureau Co. ? He said Yes, and asked, What can I do for you? She said: Well, I want a bureau: none of your common pine ones. I want a mahogany bureau, with a looking-glass. She could not be persuaded but that this was the legitimate business of the office to furnish bureaus to freedmenbut was finally satisfied by an assurance that from the first lot re- ceived a mahogany bureau with a looking-glass would be reserved for her. THE County Courts of Virginia, composed of Jus- tices of the Peace who never studied law, furnish many amusing incidents. Five honest farmers in the County of M were convened as an Examin- ing Court to determine by the evidence whether a mere boy who was arrested upon a grave charge of

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 131-136

EDITORS DRAWER. 131 SOUTHERN AMERICA. In Ilayti the attempted revolution against the Government of President Geifrard appears to have been suppressed; Cape Haytien, the only point really held by the insurgents, having been surren- dered. From Mexico the accounts are, as usual, contra- dictory, and only partiaUj reliable. The indica- tions are that the balance of success is still largely in favor of the Imperialists, and that the Juarez Government is practically put down. The Im- perial Government of Maximilian, it is equally clear, is kept in place only by foreign force. The contest is now simply a guerrilla warfare, marked by the utmost atrocities on both sides. The Im- perial Government has inaugurated measures to in- vite foreign emigration into Mexico, sad has con- fided the management of the business to Matthew F. Maury, once Superintendent of the National Oh- servatorv at Washington, and J. B. Magruder, both lately in the Confederate service. In the region of the River Plate the Paraguayans appear to have suffered considerable reverses; but the details are too vague to be noted at length. It is said that at Yatay (18th of August) 3000 Pars- guayans were literally annihilated by the allied Brazilians and Argentines; and that 7000 more, surrounded by 20,000 enemies, were momentarily expected to surrender. On the other hand, the Brazilian fleet is said to have suffered severely in an attempt to pass batteries erected by the enemy to prevent their descent down the river. EUROPR Lord Palmerston (Henry John Temple), the Brit- ish Premier, died on the 18th of October. He was born October 20, 1784, and so lacked but two days of having completed his 81st year. Although born in England he was of a family long established in Ireland, where most of their estates lay. His title, to which he succeeded in 1802, was an Irish one, not constitutIng him a peer of the realm. He was strictly a Commoner. His political life covers nearly sixty years, he having been elected to Par- liament in 1806. We enumerate the principal posts which he held during this long period, without at- tempting to present the party changes with which they were connected. In 1807 he was a Junior Lord of the Admiralty; from 1809 to 1828 Secre- tary at War; from 1830 to 1841, with few inter- vals, and afterward from 1845 to 1852, Foreign Secretary; from 1853 to 1855 Home Secretary; from 1855 to 1857 Premier, and again on the down- fall of the Derby Administration in June, 1859, Premier until the time of his death. His general pelitical character has been briefly sketched in an- other part of this Magazine.Earl Russell was called upon to fill the place of Lord Palmerston and to construct a new Cabinet. This appears to be a mere temporary measure, since, apart from other considerations, the Earl is nearly 75 years old. As far as we can judge, it appears to be an almost foregone conclusion that Mr. Gladstone will soon be called upon to fill the post of British Prem- ier. A disease among cattle, designated as the Ilinder- pest ( Cattle-Plague), has broken out in portions of Europe, especially in Great Britain.The chol- era is slowly advancing in various directions. In and about Paris many deaths have occurred. But beyond the immediate basin of the Mediterranean it has not as yet assumed a very virulent form. Gib- raltar has suffered severely. All intercourse be- tween thatBritish strong-hold and the adjacent Span- ish main land having been prohibited, the people have endured much from famine as well as from pestilence. In Turkey the disease has subsided. The season has so far advanced that little danger is apprehended from the further advance of the disease at present. But grave fears are entertained for the approaching spring and summer. @~Ii{Ot7~ ~Urnawr. BEGINNING a new Volume, the Drawer re- members with pleasure all the yeari~, the many merry years it has had with the readers of Ilarper.s Monthly. Through the long and weary war the Drawer ever kept up good heart, and many a soldiers hearty laugh and cheerful smile were due to the good things he found in these bright pages. And now, in these piping times of peace, the Drawer rejoices with all the rest of mankind, and peeps on in the even tenor of its good old wayon~m of the institutions of the land. TOM MARSHALLS putting down the man at Buf- falo who cried louder while Tem was speaking is often told, but the following is as new as true: At a great pelitical meeting Tom began his speech, and had made but little progress until he was assailed with a torrent of abuse by a man from the Bull Run District. Not at all disconcerted Tom sung out at the top of his voice, Be jabers thats me fren Patrick Murphythe ihan that spells God with a little G, and Murphy with a big MI If Pat had any elevated ideas of his smartness, the roars of laughter that greeted this shot must hsive caused him to doubt the propriety of giving words to more. THE following comes to us from Dobbs Ferry, on the Hudson: At Atlanta, Georgia, where I was recently, an elderly colored woman of the true Southern type thus addressed me: Can you tell me, Sah, whar the Freedmans Bureau Co. is ? I answered in the affirmative, and as I was going to the same place told her to accompany me. On our arrival she inquired of the officer in charge if this was the Freedmans Bureau Co. ? He said Yes, and asked, What can I do for you? She said: Well, I want a bureau: none of your common pine ones. I want a mahogany bureau, with a looking-glass. She could not be persuaded but that this was the legitimate business of the office to furnish bureaus to freedmenbut was finally satisfied by an assurance that from the first lot re- ceived a mahogany bureau with a looking-glass would be reserved for her. THE County Courts of Virginia, composed of Jus- tices of the Peace who never studied law, furnish many amusing incidents. Five honest farmers in the County of M were convened as an Examin- ing Court to determine by the evidence whether a mere boy who was arrested upon a grave charge of 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. felony should be sent on to the Circnit Court for trial. The evidence furnished the Court by the Prosecuting Attorney was very conclusive against the prisoner. The Justices heard the evidence, and then held a consultation how they would dispose of the case. After some time the Court determ- ined that as the prisoner was quite young and might reform they would, through the oldest member of the Court, give the young man a severe lecture and then discharge him. Accordingly old Squire H, who talked through his nose, arose, and looking fiercely at the prisoner, ordered him to stand up, and then commenced his lecture: Young man1. its awful, awful, I say ; and then remembering the points of the evidence his indignation reached the highest point as he ex- claimed, in thunder tones, Clear out of my sight, you ornery scamp! Thus closed the lecture, amidst roars of laughter from the spectators. POPPING the Question is one of the fine arts undoubtedly, and few attain great skill in it. In- deed a happy hit is better than a studied effort. Jones has put his experience into verse, and sings it when he feels bad: I pressed my beating heart, I smoothed my ruffled hair, I stepped into the room, I found Lorinda there. I seized her lily hand, I squeezed it oer and oer, I bent my well-turned legs, I knelt upon the floor. I told my tale of woe, I whispered all my fears, Then, what dye think she did? Why, coolly boxed my ears! A piquant poet of the softer sex insists that ladies ought to have the privilege of popping the question: 0! what a shocking thing, indeed, 0! what a stupid fashion, That when a woman falls in love She may not breathe her passion. As though she could not make as well The needful declaration, That she intends to make with Miss A final separation; And could not just as well present The thrilling, sweet proposal, That she would like to give herself To hymens blest disposal. Or, to he more explicit een, And save my readers trouble, That she intends to change herself Her single self to double. To think a woman could not say, I love you more, my Harry, Than all the worldexcept myself Dear, would you like to marry? ~im wants me, hut I dont want him, Consider what you utter, Because my heart, you seeyou see Is in a dreadful flutter! The ladies are not very much down-trodden in this matter, though. They are very proficient in urging men to ask the questions which by etiquette they are not allowed to ask themselves. A lover, vainly tryi~g to explain some scientific theory to his fair inamorata, said, The question is difficult, and I dont see what I can do to make it clear. Suppose you pop it, whispered the blush- ing damseL Miss Brown, said a young fellow to a brisk brunette, I have been to learn to tell fortunes. Just let me have your hand, if you please. La~ Mr. White, how sudden you are! Well, go and ask father! THAT reminds us of a story of Professor Wilson. A young man who had gained the affections of his daughter, waited upon papa and stated his case, of which the Professor had a previous inkling. The young gentleman was directed to desire the lady to come to her father, and, doubtless, her obedience was prompt. Professor Wilson had before h~,in review, some work, on the fly-leaf of which was duly inscribed, With the authors compliments. He tore this out, pinned it to his daughters dress, solemnly led her to the young lover, and went back to his work. HON. W. T. WILLEY, United States Senator from West Yirginia, commenced the practice of law be- fore the County Court of M. He was retained by a prisoner to defend him at an Examining Court. The evidence closed. Young Willey watched the Court closely to ascertain if possible the feeling of the Justices toward his client; but no ray of light could he discover. After the Prosecuting Attorney had opened the argument Mr. Willey advocated the cause of his client. Suiting the action to the word and the word to the actioi~, he made a most eloquent appeal to the Court, and asked, Can it be possible from the evidence that my client is guilty ? Old Squire K, a member of the Court, wiped a tear from his cheek, and, much to the young advocates surprise, answered, promptly, No, ill be switch- ed ~f it is I Mr. Willey was sure of at least one member of the Court. His client was acquitted. A KENTUCKY contributor sends greeting: Near the town of D, in the Blue-grass region of Kentucky, lives the family of a gentleman who represented Missouri in the late rebel Senate. George and Charley are the pets of the household: the former a golden-haired, bright-eyed scamp, full of mischief, and always cunning enough to attempt to shield himself by some device; the latter his op- posite in dispositionamiable, yielding, and easily tyrannized over. George is always ready to take advantage of this weakness. Shortly after the fa- thers return from Dixie he interfered with Georges overbearing conduct toward his brother Charley, and reproved him severely. George was veryyoung when his father left, and since his return had not become reconciled to a calm submission to parental authority, and when reproved by his father on the occasion mentioned he boldly said: You let me alone; I dont know what you come here for any how, always making a fuss. If you dont quit Ill tell General Fry, and hell hang you for a webel! AN Irish dragoon, on hearing that his widowed mother had married since he quitted Ireland, ex- claimed, Murther! I hope she wont have a son oulder than me; if she does, I shall lose the estate. HERE are two anecdotes from Kansas: During the last political campaign Colonel Law- rence was making a very humorous speech in Rep- resentative Hall, in the course of which he ridiculed those Republicans who had fused with old Border- ruffian Democrats in order to control the election and divide the spoils. Asa Hairgrove, a noted EDITORS DRAWER. 133 character in the State, considering himself assault- ed, and having imbibed rather freely, arose in the audience and asked the speaker if he was throw- ing importunities at him. Colonel L. remarked that he was not conscious of having thrown any such an article, and in fact he did not know what they were. This raised the laugh at Asas expense, and it is thought hy some that this incident led to his reform, for he has since joined the Sons, and is a consistent member. E. C. K. GARVEY, formerly of Meadville, Penn- sylvania, resides now at Tecumseh, where he lives in good style, gives fine entertainments, has hosts of visitors, and keeps fast horses. His forte con- sists in contracting debts, giving his note in consid- eration, with the honest purpose of letting the hold- er keep the note if it is not paid at maturity. The incident I wish to relate of him is as follows: Be- fore Kansas had arisen to the dignity of a State E. C. K. G. was the proprietor of a newspaper at To- peka. The editorial management of the paper was in the hands of his friends. An old acquaintance of Mr. G.s in Illinois, a Methodist preacher, hav- ing died, he wished a good notice to accompany the announcement of his death, which was written at his request, the closing words of which were, Let us drop a tear to his memory. This was placed on the hook ready for the compositor. Soon after Garvey came into the office, and reading the puff of his deceased friend demurred to the last sentence as exhibiting a rather niggardly flow of sympathyonly dropping one tear to the memory of so good a man. A wag present suggested that it would appear better to read a tear or two, and another thought or perhaps three should be add- ed, so that the sentence would read: Let us drop a tear or two, or perhaps three, to his memory. This satisfied Garvey, and so the notice appeared. JONES buys wheat at a railroad station not a hundred miles away. He is sharp, but did over- reach himself once. In buying a load he placed a heavy plank upon the scales for convenience in weighing. After he had paid, he whispered to a crony, Say nothin; I shared that fellow; I never deducted the plank but once keep steady! It took some time to convince him, but he finally did see that he had bought thirty pounds of plank twen- ty-one times. Jones dont like to be asked the price of pine plank by his best friends. A FRIEND in La Grange, New York, writes to the Drawer. Judge Fine, of Ogdensburg, St. Lawrence Coun- ty, is well known as an able lawyer, an excellent judge, and an accomplished gentleman, and withal a fine scholar and interesting public speaker. In the exciting Presidential canvass of 1840 the Judge and two or three of his lawyer friends were out stumping it, when there fell in with them one of the numerous political bores of the country who had far more zeal than knowledge, and who insisted on going the rounds of the Judges appointments with the party. Every where the fellow made himself noisily conspicuous, to the infinite annoyance of the Judge and his friends, and to the great disgust of the more intelligent among the audiences. After endurance had ceased to be a virtue the Judge de- termined to get rid of him. The party had stopped at the little village of De Kaib for refreshments; and when the wine was being passed Bore, who had seated himself next to the Judge, demanded that each of the party should in turn tell a story or sing a songbeginning with the Judge. The Judge re- marked that he never sang, hut he would tell a story. Then, addressing himself particularly to Bore, he proceeded: It was in the good old times, such as Aisop tell~ of, when all the animals as well as ~man had the gift of speech, that a fox in his rambles caine to a deserted church, which he determ- ined to explore in quest of game or information. In wandering over the building he came at length into the belfry, when, seeing the bell, his curiosity was greatly excited, and he resolved to find out what it was. So he climbed up on the timbers till he could reach the bell, and finding it would swing, he con- tinued to move it till the clapper struck the side, when the noise caused him to start back in alarm, but finding himself unhurt he approached it again and swung it till it rung repeatedly, when at last he withdrew in great disgust, and, shaking his paw at it, exclaimed(and here the Judge rose, keeping his eye on Bore) You long . tongued, hollow- headed, noisy fool, you ! And the Judge left the room. Bore had business home that night. Gun little Stella had been sitting for some time very quietly by her aunt, when suddenly looking up from her work, she remarked, Aunty, if all the folks in the world should think out aloud what a racket there would be A PENESYLVANIA seven-year-old was reproved lately for playing outdoor with boys: she was too big for that now. But with all imaginable inno- cence she replied, Why, grandma, the bigger we grow the better we like em 1 Grandma took time to think. A PENEsYLvANIA contributor writes: In these out-of-the-way regions there dwells a stub of the law who is possessed of august presence and imposing physical structure, having judicial impartiality depicted in every lineament of his be- nevolent face, but is nevertheless slow to ~ee the pointin fact, thick otherwise than crosswise. This uncommon peculiarity is the occasional cause of a little fun. He had an attack of catarrh not long ago, and it happened, as J. Billings would say, thusly Loitering in a store one evening he accidentally saw the clerk take a mouse from the trap to throw into the street. Thinking i~ would be a nice mor- sel for his cat, the sole companion of his solitude, he took the little animal and tucked it into lila vest pocket as the handiest receptacle. Before he reached home he forgot all about it. The weather was warm, and by the next day it was forcibly impressed upon his mind that something smeltin fact, that there was something rotten in Denmarkbut what it was he could not divine. The second day the odor was powerful, and not of the Frangipanni order either. Something must be done; so, after some reflection and a good deal of sniffing, he reached tl~e conclu- sion that the cause of his bad breath was the catarrh, and that he had it bad. On the advice of and in company with, three or four officious friends (?), the case~~ was stated to the Doctor. Now this par- ticular Doctor likes a good thing, and accordingly investigated the matter with professional dignity. After a series of sly and exceedingly impertinent interrogatories, he gave the following opinion: Mr~ 5, that you are a well-read man is in- 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. disputable that you are also red-olent of snephitic odors is not a matter of controversy. I have diag- nosed your case with care. There are two supposi- tions possibleone isnt, the other is. The first that something has crawled into you and died; the second, that you have the catarrh. As the proper remcdial agency to be employed in alleviating your distressing condition allow me to offer you those pills. Take three every half hour for the next ten days. Your case is critical. No laughing [This to the grinning friends.]Pnt the pills in your vest pocket and observe the directions. Our unfortunate complied, and in so doing struck the cause of all his woes. With a long, low whis- tle and amazed eyes he carefully drew forth the de- cayed corpus by the tail. The roar that ensued baffles description, while poor 5 walked slowly away, gazing contemplatively upon the little animal that dangled from his thumb and forefinger, evident- ly utterly incapable of expressing his emotions. Ax anecdote given in your October Number sug- gests the following Ii , an officer of our nav~, well known for his gallant and heroic conduct during the late rebellion, is a man of exceedingly fastidious tastes, manifest- ing due consi(leration and delicacy in his relations with his fellow men and women. Subject to hu- man frailties, he is an inveterate smoker, and very dependent upon a particular brand of cigars, which usually forms no inconsiderable part of his luggage when traveling, boring a stage-coach ride in the Southwest his stock of Ilavanas had become ex- ceedingly limited, being reduced to bnt two, which state of exhaustion he fully realized, especially in view of being unable to replenish until reaching a point a days journey distant, where he barely hoped to obtain a fresh supply. Breakfast lsavin& i been accomplished and the startin~ of the coach announced, he took a legiti- mate light, in accordance with the rules laid down by connoissetirs, then seated himself some- what luxuriously in the vehicle, half-audibly solil oquizimsg, Only two cigars heft. Well, I must fully enjoy them! having hut one compagnon dn voyage, who made no objection to his indulgence, he reclined lazily against the cushion, watching the fioatin0 wreaths of smoke, and wondering if some of the Spanish had not surreptitiously escaped un- enjoyed, when suddenly the stage of proceedings was interrupted by a halt at the door of a neat cottage, from which emerged a respectable-looking female. attired ie la seeds, cep-~e-pie. Well, thought II , my dream of temporary bliss has, I fear, been summarily abbreviated~ Perhaps, though, as the day is fine and the coach is open, I may, by making due apologies, be permitted to enjoy my cigar, as I can not surely think of throwing it away Waiting until the new companion had fairly en. sconced herself, avoiding any apparent obtrusion upon her delicate sensibilities, he ventured to snake the hackneyed inquiry, Madam, do you object to a cigar P To which she readily replied, much to his surprise and consternation, Well, Mister, I dont care if I do take one, if youve got some handy; I left my pipe to home this morning OUT hero in Oregon, between Boise City and Happy Camp, on the south fork of the Boise River, there is a toll-road owned and kept by a Jew, who having no charter for his road, of course can only collect toll when travelers please to pa~ it. Among the numuerous teamsters who had passed over this road was a Down Easter by the nanso of Dunn, who made the common excuse, as he went into Happy Camp with his six large freight teams that he was strapped, and promising to settle as he came back. Ou coming back he found that the son of Abraham had him charged with three hundred dol- lars! and, Jew like, remarked that that was little enough; but, said he, I hes liberal, and I trows off half. Whereupon Jonathan straightened him- self up to full six feet high, and, said he, I never allow myself to be outdone in liberality, and so Ill throw off the odser hejf and well call it square A wnsmx suggests in the New York Saturday Times that every railroad should be provided with its private grave-yard, where its victims might ha interred at the companys expensea simple act of justice to surviving relatives. Appropriate epi- taphs could he placed over the remains of the suf- ferers from each accident, stating tlust nobody was to blame, etc., as the following, for instance: COW ON TIACK. A bovine wait fremn the adjoining field Time track invaded and soy fate she sealed; By tise cow-catcher can~ht, else dew sky-high, And so, dear friends, I isope at last simall I. MISPLACED SWITCH. A eon of Ens, to time duty new, And sligistly tipsy, tise wrong lever drew. Thirty were killed, and here, in sweet repose, They wait till Gabriels warning whistle blows. The Smashtown Railroad Company with a sigh Records tiseir fatehut eb! we all must die; And as lifes tracks all end in Deatiss abode, Much these escape who take the shortest road. OPEN DRAWBRIDGE. Drawbridge shut ! the signal said, Tsvasnt elmut. Alas! how solemn! Such is life! See list of dead On time other side lisle columun. A WESTERN correspomedent says: In a district in the Far West we had a gentleman teacher who thought it advisable to give some lessons in polite- ness. Among other things he told the hsoys in ad- dressing a gentleman they should always say Sir, and gave them examples, and made quite a lesson of it. One boy was particularly delighted, and took occasion to speak to his teaclmer often, to show he profited by his teachings. When ho went home to dinner his fatheer said: Tom, have some moat? Yes. Sir, I thank you. The next thing the child knew his fatlmers hand came whsack on Isis ear, and his fathers voice thun- dered forth, Ill teach you to sass your dad Tom gave up being polite. LAST year a soldier of one of our infantry rej- monte at Nashville being in need of a pair of hoots, amed not being able to draw themam from tIme Qesarter- Master, went into thee shop of a Jew dealer, and immediately priced some that were lying on tIme counter. Dose poets ish nine dollars, said the dealer. Cant give it; tlmey are too dear, said the sol- dier. My grashus! says tIme Jew, dey costs me shust eight dollar and seventy-five cents in New York. You must lot a potty muake a leetle some- EDITORS DRAWER. 135 tings. Here, Shon (to a boy), pring de invoice of dese fine poots, and I show de shentlemans de price. - The invoice was immediately produced, and after some higgling, which brought down the price con- siderably, the soldier bought a pair and started off. He had walked only one or two squares, however, when the soles came off! Of course he at once made tracks for the Jew store, and on entering ac- costed him with Look here, you scoundrel, youve swindled me. These boots aint worth a cent ! The Jew looked up in amazement at his customer, and putting on an air of well-feigned astonishment, replied: Oh, dem ish not infantry poots: I thought you vas a cavalry man. ALL the way from Fort Abercrombie, Dacotah Territory, this comes to the Drawer: The Old Cap, as he is familiarly called here- about, weighs two hundred and sixty pounds avoir- dupois, is a huge embodiment of fun, and the dry- est of jokers. No opportunity escapes him for get-. ting a good sell upon any of his friends, while it is but seldom that the tables are turned upon him. By-the-way, he is Assistant Quarter-Master at this post, and a thorough-going officer. Frank, his most intimate friend, is also something of a jester, and succeeded, not long since, in perpetrating a sell upon him. The Captain took it all in good part, mere- ly intimating that he owed the gentleman one, which he would endeavor to cancel at sight. An opportunity soon offered. A dinner was being giv- en by the officers of the post to some thirty stran- gers (officers of an expedition which was passing at the time). Old Cap and Frank were both on hand, in their liveliest moods; and the latter, think- ing it a good opportunity for perpetrating joke No. 2 upon the former, called upon him for a speech, and was accommodated in the following style: Mv FRINiDS AND FELLOW-OFFICERS, I feel that it is good to be here. My heart leaps with joy at being permitted to share in the festivities of this happy occasion. It tends, as it were, to lift one for the moment above the cares of business, and infuses into the mind a something that is elevating and ennobling. And, my friends, as you now be- hold me, all glee, hilarity, and eloquence, you will scarcely crodit my words when I tell you that it is not always thus with me. Alls not gold that glitters. Perhaps tis well. Without first tasting the bitter we could not fully appreciate that which is sweet; and without being born naked,how,I ask, should we ever have found out the necessity for clothes? Ay, gentlemen, my fortitude and for- bearance are often sorely tried, as, with your kind indulgence, I will endeavor to illustrate in a very few words. [Cries of Go ahead!] Well, then, to begin: I am running a saw-mill at this post for Uncle Sam, which is propelled by a ten-horse power, but at times I have so much other work for the horses to do that I run it with a less number. Last week I was required to forward a concise state- ment of the amount and kinds of transportation on hand to the head-quarters of the department, and being in doubt as to the exact number of horses employed in the mill at the time I sent Frank to ascertain, with directions to report the facts to me as soon as possible. At my desk I sat and sat, like Patience on a monument, with pen in hand, await- ing his speedy return. Two long hours elapsed, and no Frank! If ever I did feel like swearing, that was the time; and it makes the blood boil in my veins at this very moment as I think of it! Final- ly my patience, for which I am proverbial, went back on me, and seizing my hat I rushed out to the mill in order to learn the cause of delay. On arriving there I found Frank looking into the in- closure where the horses were going round on the machine, and seizing him by the collar (for I i~as mad, though!) I demanded to know what he stood there all this while for gaping at the horses, when he knew I was waiting to learn how many there were! At this apparently rough treatment Frank immediately about faced, and, with a look of the most ineffable scorn and indignation depicted upon his usually smiling countenance, exclaimed, in tones of thunder, Why, I have already counted five hun- dred and sixty-three, and am waiting for the rest to pass by. The Lord only knows how many more there are! THE three that follow come fresh from Texas to the Drawer, from a correspondent who is always welcome as of old: Bill Triplett, a son of old Kentucky, many years ago emigrated to Arkansas, and lived in a kind of hand-to-mouth sort of way, till finally. he was reduced to the extremity of borrowing all the ready cash h~ got hold of. One day he went to Fred Trapnallof whom he boasted as an old friend, and who was a whole-souled fellowand asked the loan of ten dollars. Fred was a candidate for the Legislature on the Whig ticket; but Bill was an inveterate Democrat. When he asked the loan on this occasion, Fred said, Bill, how does it happen that when you want money you always come to me, but when Im a candidate you are always op- posed to me ? This ought to have been a poser, but Bill was smart. Said he: -Fred, took at me right good! Ill tell you: Politically Im opposed to you, but financially Im your friend 1 HEDGE TRIPLETT was known in the olden times of Arkansas as a lawyer that traveled the circuit, and famous for his marvelous stories. He was orig- inal, courageous, and witty. On one occasion, when a creek that was very high had to be crossed, he, together with the Judge and lawyers, were com- pelled to cross the stream on a fallen tree and swim their horses. Hedge was the first to cross. He had just begun when he heard an unusual noise at the other end of the log, on the opposite side: he discovered a huge bear in the act of coming over toward him. Both could not cross on the same log, in opposite directions, at the same time; and he thus addressed his Bruinship: Mr. Bar! do you intend to cross this log before I do? Make up your mind quick ! The bear showed his teeth and growled terribly. Hedge began to show a disposi- tion to retire, but before doing so he said, If you will come first, Ill show you a fine specimen of fall- ing off a log! and off he dropped. Ix the good old times before railroads in Arkan- sas, when the lawyers had to travel afoot or on horseback, Fred Trapnall, who, besides being a most excellent lawyer was a capital good fellow, was in company with three others on his way to Chicot Court. The road was chiefly through the river bottoms; the waters were extremely low, and gro- ceries accordingly scarce. Fred had a singularly sweet tooth, and his coffee almost universally had to be sweetened over again. On this occasion, at dinner, he sent his cup back to the presiding mis- 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tress of the cabin, with If you please, madam, I like my coffee very sweet, and Ill thank you for a little more sugar. He was helped, but returned it with a similar request, even to the third time of asking; when the lady, her eyes in a fine frenzy rolling, seized the delinquent sugar-dish, and step- ping rapidly to Fred plumped it down before him on the table, and said, There! take it all ! THE prospectus of the Union Sosiety against profane language and the use of tobaco, in the Drawer for October, brought to my mind several spells I have encountered in my peregrinations; one or two of which I will relate: The late Doctor P, for some years a Member of Congress from Ohio, was one of a large class of educated men with whom I have come in contact who could readily detect an error of orthography in print, but was unable to write correctly one word in five. On one occasion the Doctor sent a speech to the Globe office, written out by himself, to prevent snisrepresentation~ by the reporters, and while it was being put in type he called in to assist in reading the proof-sheets. Before it was completed Harry Wr (a very modest but intelligent compositor) had occasion to call the Doctors attention to a word which, he said, he couldnt exhotly compre- hend. The Doctor glanced at the word, and then gave Harry a look of mingled incredulity sad aston- ishment; and finally, as if desirous that the whole office should take cognizance of the compositors stupidity, in a loud and distinct voice spelled and syllabled the word, thus: p-r-u, pm, c-h-e, she pruclie; its the plainest word on the. page ! The roar of laughter which at that point broke forth from every quarter of the room left the Doctor in doubt for a moment whether it was at his own or harrys expense; but when it was succeeded by, Whats that, Doctor ?something good to eat ? No, it must mean something good to drink ! etc., he began to soc it. Well! he exclaimed, if you are all so dd smart, let us hear one of you spell it! Harry modestly suggested that it should be spelled P-r-u-s-s-i-a, commencing with a capital P, and not with a small p, as the Doctor had written it. The Doctor caved, and calling george (the office boy), gave him a silver dollar and told him to go into Powells and get a bottle of si;kisky. There. ! exclaimed the individual who had sug- gested that it might be something good to drink, I knew it was a beverage of some sort ! DOCTOR N, of North Carolina, represented his district in Congress some twenty years ago. He was in the habit every session of getting up an eight-page speech for the edification of his constitu- ents. He usually employed some one to put them in shape before sending the manuscripts to the printer. If the Doctor ever had been o~ speaking terms with either Webster or Murray, it was pretty evidex~t ha had cut their acquaintance long since. On one occasion he took his speech to the printer in his own handrite, as he expressed it, adding that he was a powerful pore writer, but asiden from the handrite he reckoned theyd find it all correct. The foreman glanced at it, pronounced the writing plain enough (as it was), and gave the whole of the copy to one of the compositors. The first paragraph contained a large number of agricultural curiosi- tiessuch as hey, otes, taters, beens, wheat, korn, etc., etc.which served toamuse without perplexing him. He could correct the or- thography; but what license should he take with the grammar? That point he submitted to the fore- man, who told him to give it a free translation into English ! He did soretaining the leading ideas, but so modifying the construction of the whole speech that the proof-reader found it impossible to read it by copy. After he had given it a silent reading, comparing it with the original to see that the true intent and meaning thereof had been retained, he inquired for the man who set up Doctor Ns speech, remarking: Whoever did it has made quite a respectable speech out of very poor material; and I dont believe the Doctor will recognize it as his own. The Doctor called in to read the proof; and after he had perused the speech carefully, he exclaimed, Well, I do declare it is astonishing to me how you printers can do these things without making mistakes! I dont find a single one in the whole of this yam speech. it is jest axactly os I nt it, word for wordl AN old gentleman named Gould having married a vonag lady of nineteen, thus addressed his friend, Doctor T, at the wedding festival: So you see, my dear Sir, though eighty years old, A girl of nineteen falls in, love with aid Gould. To which the Doctor replied: A girl of nineteen may love Gould, it is true, But believe me, dear Sir, it is Geld without U. BAItTY WILLARD, who formerly lived in the northern part of Vermont, was noted for his care- less, vagabond habits, ready wit, and remarkable facility at extempore rhyming. Sitting one day in a village store, among a crowd of idlers, the mar- cha~it asked him why l~ always wore that shocking bad hat. Barty replied that it was simply because he was unable to buy a better. Come, now, said the store-keeper, make me a good rhyme on the old hat immediately, and Ill give you a new bat, tl~se best one in the store. Instantly Barty threw the old one on the floor, and began: Here lies my old bat, And pray what of that? Tis as good as the rest of my raiment; If I buy me a better, Youll make me your debtor, And send me to jatl for the payment. The new hat was voted to be fairly won, and Barty bore it off in triumph, saying, Its a poor head that cant take care of itself! ALEXANDER, fourth Earl of Kellie, was rather a hard liver~ He married Anne, daughter of the third Earl of Balcarr~s, and, in the first confidence of married love, intrusted to her keeping the key of the wine-cellar. Lady Kellie, on the first occa- sion that he invited his boon companions to dinner and drink, gave out as much wine as she thought good for them, and walked quietly up to Camanee with the key of the wine-cellar in her pocket, to talk her four hours with the ministers wife. The party soon discussed the modicum she had left out for their consumption, and on his lord~hip sending for more he learned how matters stood. He had the cellar-door forced forthwith from its hinges, and desired the servants to take it to the manse, with his compliments to her ladyship, and, if she asked any questions, to say that it was the cellar-door come to look for the key.

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 32, Issue 188 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York January 1866 0032 188
N. G. Shepherd Shepherd, N. G. Winter 137-139

IIARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No CLXXXVIII.JANUARY, 1866.VoL. XXXII. -A I ix L __ __- -- ___ -- i~ntered according to Act of Congreos, in the year 1865, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the Dis- trict Conrt for the Southern District of New York. VOL XXXILNo. 188.K / ,A ~Mi) ~ ~ ~Li HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The fields are white below Their covering of snow That oYr the earth, a chilly shroud, is lying; And through the elms huge limbs The wind is chanting hvmus, Like soft, sad dirges for some poor soul dying. Mute are the frozen rills That course adown the hills With babbling voices in the Summer weather; Aud mute the meadow brook, Where oft with line and hook Ive augled from the hank for hours together. Within the solemn woods, Where ghostly silence broods No Summer bird her heart beguiles with singing; But in the Whiter night, Beneath the pale moons light, Are heard the merry sleigh-bells blithely rmn~ mug. Or from the frozen stream. Where the gray willows gleani, On either side the cheerless shore abounding, Armed with its blade of steel, The shadowy skaters heel Spurns the stout ice with shrilly echoes sounding. At home beside the hearth. With jest and song of mirth, And ringing chorus to the rafters pealing, The long dark evening goes, The cider, circling, flows, And li~hts the eye with sparks of kindly feeling. And so with song and cheer The winter, cold and drear, Flits lightly hy on Times swift pinions flying; And in our hearts the flower Of gladness blooms each hour, Although outside the winds are sadly sighing. 135 TIlE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 139 THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. N an article published in this M~ gazine nine nent of Americanamely, the settlement of years ago (in Octoher, 1856), some account Red River; a colony so far apart from the rest Wa given of the most ortherly settlement of of the world that one only hears of it once hi mcu of the An lo - Saxon rice on the onti- generation; yet a settlement self-supporting.

John Bonner Bonner, John British Route for a Pacific Railroad 139-160

TIlE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 139 THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. N an article published in this M~ gazine nine nent of Americanamely, the settlement of years ago (in Octoher, 1856), some account Red River; a colony so far apart from the rest Wa given of the most ortherly settlement of of the world that one only hears of it once hi mcu of the An lo - Saxon rice on the onti- generation; yet a settlement self-supporting. 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. prosperous, increasing in numbers with little or no immigration, and enjoying a home where doctors starve, and the soil yields 60 @ 60 bushels of wheat to the acre. Since that article was written the discovery of gold in British Columbia, and the impending collapse of the Hudsons Bay Company, have suggcsted the scheme of a Northern Pacific Railway to be constructed wholly on ~British Territory. The notion is a favorite one with our Canadian neighbors. Canadian explorers have traced the course of the road. It would start from their new capital, Ottawa; run over the mountains and lakes to Fort Garry, on Red River; thence along the Assiniboine to the Saskatchewan; along the Saskatchewan Valley to the Rocky Mountains; over them, and down the Thompson or Fraser to New Westminster, British Columbia. This is no mere newspaper scheme. Men of science and practical knowledge openly advo- cate its accomplishment. True, during the first and last two stages of the proposed route the railroad would run through mountains, lakes, morasses, and unpassable thicketsa country which experienced woodsmen and Indians can only traverse at the rate of two or three miles a day. But the word impossible has been struck out of the modern dictionary. Professor Hind, a learned Englishman, and Fellow of no end of Scientific Societies, has been over the ground and declares that the road can be built. It would probably cost a hundred million pounds sterling, and thirty yearn of time; and care would have to be taken to prevent the work- men perishing of cold and hunger during the winter season, when work would have to be sus- pended. Our Canadian neighbors, however, regard these matters as minutlin. The line of road having been discovered, and the feasibili- ty of its construction admitted by a learned Professor, it is held in Canada that nothing now remains for the British Government, if it values its transatlantic possessions, but to vote the hundred millions at once, and send out a few ship-loads of laborers to begin grading. It is remarked, with perfect accurucy, that the Pacific shore of America trends eastward from Vancouvers Island to California, and that the British port of Victoria is considerably near- er Hakodadi and Shanghai than San Francisco. If therefore the British American Railroad were built, and no other, all the trade of Asia would pass over it, beating the overland route via Suez to London by a fortnight. It is true that the operation of this road might be interfered with during seven months of the year by the snow, which falls to a depth of forty and sixty feet over a considerable part of the country through which the proposed line would run. But this again is a minor matter. The snow- drifts might be tunneled, or Brobdignagian snow-plows might be introduced, or some broth- er Professor of the learned Hind might be tempted to invent a chemical apparatus for melting the snow on the rails. Our Canadian friends are positive that if the British Govern- ment will only build the road, some contriv- ance will be devised to keep it open during win- ter. We sincerely hope the British Government will respond favorably to the request of the colonists. The more railroads the better; and the longer they are the better still. Though this country is not dismembered, and plunged into the vortex of never-ending civil war, as a colonial advocate of a British American Pa- cific Railroad eloquently urged, in support of his appeal to England to take the new route to Asia into her own hands, we are none the less anxious to see our neighbors on every side de- veloping their resources, opening up new terri- tory, and marking out new paths for trade. It is to the interest of every American to see ev- ery part of American soil producing food, and supporting industrious men. Two enterprising Englishmen, Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle, have lately gone over the country through which the proposed British American Pacific Railroad would pass. Both were men of extraordinary physical power, of resolute mind, of experience in woodcraft, and of shrewdness and courage. They started fully prepared for danger and hardship. There was no cockney snobbery about them. The Lord was as ready to cook, cut fuel, lead a horse, carry a load, or mend his moccasins as if he had been to the manner born. The Doctor, a man of gigantic strength, was equally indefati- gable in body and imperturbable in temper. Both were essentially English in the resolute obstinacy with which they pursued their task in the teeth of the most formidable obstacles. They left England with the intention of trav- ersing British America to the Pacific. That intention they fulfilled, at what cost of suffer- ing and privation this article will endeavor briefly to show. One small inconsistency in starting may be forgiven them. Instead of undertaking to work their way through the trackless forests and mountains lying between Ottawa and the Red River settlement, they wisely pushed as far ~vest as they could over our railroads and in our steamers, passing through Chicago, thence to La Crosse, thence up the Mississippi to St. Paul, and thence by stage to Georgetown, Min- nesota. This was not exactly exploring a track for a Pacific Railroad wholly on British soil ; but it saved 220 of travel through the wilderness, and placed the travelers in 970 west longitude without hardship orloss of time. From Georgetown a little stern-wheel steamer runs down the Red River to Fort Garry; but the steamer not being in port when our travelers wanted her, they chartered two bark canoes, and undertook the voyage in them. It was not a successful experiment. The travelers fell among storms, which are severe in that re- gion; lost their food and part of their cloth- ing; were repeatedly in danger of drowning; narrowly escaped the Sioux, who were just THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 141 then engaged in massacring all whites in Mm- gnidesFrcnch Canadian half-breedshired; nesota; and at last were glad enough to be and though it was obviously too late in the sea- i)ieked up by tbe steamer, which came along in son to attempt to cross the continent that year, due course, with plenty of pork and beans in it was determined to push forward well into her cabina rare treat for the famished En- the Saskatchewan country that fall, in order to glishmen. reach the Rocky Mountainsthe most peril- At Fort Carry horses were bonght, and four ons part of the journeyearly in the ensuing 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. spring or summer. Accordingly, on 23d of August, 1862, our travelers, equipped in car- iboo shirts and moccasins, mounted on sound horses, and provided with well-stocked packs, double-barreled smooth-bores, and plenty of ammunition, sallied forth from Fort Garry and turned their faces westward. The first stage of their journey lay through a fair country, abounding in grass for the cat- tle, and fairly supplied with birds in the covers, and fish in the streams. In thirty-four days this first stage, five hundr~l miles long, was accomplished without mishap, and the party encamped at Carlton House, on the south side of Saskatchewan. Like most Hudson Bay forts, Canton House is a square fort, with tow- ers at the angles, well-adapted to stand a siege against Indians; for the rest, more famous as a place of trade than as a place of war, and well-stocked within with Indian gewgaws, and all manner of creature comforts. Its chief at- traction to travelers consists in its being the best point on the continent from which to hunt the buffalo. The Englishmen had not been many hours there before a hunt was arranged. Early in the morning the hunters, mounted on the best of their horses, and each armed with a double- barrel, loaded with ball, sallied forth in high spirits. They took with them carts to carry home the buffalo meat. After traveling a few miles their advance skirmishers came gallop- ing back to the main body, shouting: Les baafs! Les buufs soat proches I (The bulls! The bulls are near!) It was a thrilling moment. Girths were tightened; caps examined; nerves braced for the encounter. At the word of command from the half-breed who officiated as captain the hunters advanced in line. Presently a herd of nine bulls, quietly feeding on the prairie, be- came visible, and soon after five or six similar herds. At a fast walk, or slow trot, the hunt- ers approached, the half-breed imitating the lowing of a cow to deceive the buffalo. They looked up at their enemy, and not liking his appearance, proceeded to move off at a leisure- ly paceso leisurely that the hunters rapidly gained on them. They were not more than 200 yards distant when the stupid buffalo re- alized the situation, and all the herds together hegan to run away at the top of their speed. At this La Bonde, the half-breed, gave the signal~ Hurrah! hurrah! allez! allez! And dashing spurs into the horses the hunt- ers charged into the herd as if they had been rebel infantry. In a minute they were among them tumbling over them, the horses, as en- thusiastic in the chase as their masters, almost leaping on the uncouth beasts as they tore through the herd. It always happens in such cases that a hunter chooses his victim. The first shot, unless fired by an old hand, seldom kills; the wounded brute gallops oft and must be run down and hit again. Thus, in less time than it takes to describe the encounter, the herd was scattered, and so were the hunt- ers, each in chase of his own beast. The chase was not long, however. In most cases the second shot was fatal. And in less than one hour the hunters were together again counting their spoils. It is etiquette, in the Saskatche- wan country, when y~u kill a man to take his scalp: when you kill a buffalo to take his tongue. The Englishmen went home each with a tongue at his saddle-bow, and the more expert half- breed had two. Other hunters of a meaner species made their appearance on the field almost as soon as the smoke of the conflict cleared away. These were the wolves, who crowned every hillock, and seemed to spring from every tuft of grass. No sooner had the hunters turned their backs on their game than these marauders were at work, tearing great strips of warm meat from the dead buffaloes sides, and picking their bones clean in an incredibly short space of time. It does not do in this country to leave your game even for ten minutes if you ever wish to see it again. Winter was now at hand. Snow had al- ready fallen, and in the mornings the pools were covered with a coating of ice. Our trav- elers resolved to go into winter - quarters at once, and selected for their residence a spot some 70 miles northwest of Carlton House, on the border of a meadow called The Beautiful Prairie. This spot they reached by the mid- dle of October, and proceeded to build a log- house. Arude kind of mortarfamiliar enough to some of our frontiersmenconsisting of mud and chopped grass, calked the interstices be- tween the logs; a roof of dry pine sticks, cov- ered with marsh grass and mud, proved water- tight or nearly so; a sheet of parchment fast- ened over a hole sawn in the logs answered the purpose of a window, and another hole, closed with boards taken from the carts, did duty as door. A comfortable winter residence for a climate in which the mercury falls to 350 below zero was thus constructed; and when a chimney was built of square stones and clay, supported by a frame-work of green wood to prevent its falling down, our travelers seemed to have nothing to desire. Later in the win- ter they found themselves inconvenienced by the d~6ris of civilized lifebones, chips, and other litter, which threatened to rise to the roof of their dwelling; but this evil they reme- died by digging downward and lowering their floor a couple of feet. Having achieved a home the travelers now proceeded to hunt. There were some buffalo not far distant. These were followed, and a few fine animals killed, not without much suf- fering from cold by the hunters, who were more than once obliged to camp out without covering near their game to protect it from the wolves. But the chief object of the English- men was to catch the valuable furred animals the white fox, the fisher, the marten, and the THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 143 nink. The marten and the fisher, as every a small palisade in the shape of half an oval, body knows, are clothed in the fur which goes with stakes of about three feet in length. In by the name of sable. The ermine abounds in this palisade a bait is set on the end of a stick. this region, bnt is not considered worth hunt- Above the bait a heavy tree lies, supported by ing. All these furred animals are caught in a prop. When we add that the stick which traps. When the hunter perceives the track holds the bait connects with the prop, we mere- of a marten or a fisher in the snow, he builds ly anticipate our juvenile readers, many of I ~ 2 114 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. whom have made traps of this very pattern. hunters call them dead falls. Mr. Marten, scouting around in search of a breakfast, dis- covers the bait, generally a piece of squirrel or partridge. Eager to get at it he crawls under the big tree and snaps. Down goes the prop, Calls the tree, poor Mr. Marten has his back broken, and Mrs. Peter OLeum will presently take his place inside of his soft fur. The silver fox is generally caught in a steel trap, similar to the traps used for catching rats, but so large that it often requires two men to set them. He is generally caught by the leg, and when the accident happens his first im- pulse is to step off. Unhappily his progress is impeded by a strong stake which the hunters chain to the trap, and which, of course, catches in the underwood, and hooks itself every where. If the fox be an old brute of a determined char- acter, he seldom hesitates in this emergency. With his teeth awl the claws of his other three feet he amputates the imprisoned limb, and leaving this meagre trophy for his hunters goes off into hospital in some secure retreat. But few foxes have the nerve for this operation. Many are so exhausted by their fruitless efforts to escape that when the hunters come up with them they submit like lambs to be knocked on the head. It doubtless consoles them in this supreme moment to reflect that their skins will be worth $200 or $250 in the London market. The great enemy of the fur hunter of the Saskatchewan is the wolverine or carcajou. This brute possesses an intellect superior to that of many men, and is reported, on good Indian authority, to bear a close relationship to the Prince of Darkness. It is, in general terms, impossible to catch, trap, shoot, or de- ceive him. He knows mankind, and sees through them. He knows all about traps. When a hunter sets his traps, thirty and forty hi a day, for marten and fisher, the carcajon watches him grimly, and sucking his paws, mentions to Mrs. Carcajon that another of those foolsmenis going to provide them with breakfast. At an early hour next morning the hunter starts to examine his traps. Just an hour before him Mr. Carcajou has started on the same errand. Wherever marten or fisher or mink or other furry creature has been caught, earcajon releases him and eats him up. He is a provident creature, too. When he has eaten his fill, he does not stop work, if any traps remain unexamined, but continues his rounds faithfully, and hides all further plunder in a cache or store-room. Young hunters set traps for the carcajon. Their seniors know better. The dead fall he laughs at. Squatting on his haunches he studies it out, finds out its weak place, and at- tacking it on that side, carries off the bait in safety. Once in a long time a hasty carcajon is snared in a steel saw trap. As soon as he realizes the accident he proceeds to detach the trap from any stake or tree to which it may be tied, then hastens off to a secluded spot with the trap on his leg. A fox in the like case, as we have seen, proceeds to amputate the limb. The carcajon dislikes surgery, and is a master of the mechanical forces. He goes to work with wedge and lever, and with incredible per- severance labors away until he has pried the trap far enough open to extricate his leg. Indians often set a gun on full cock in spots where he is expected, and fasten the bait with a string to the trigger. But the carcajou gen- erally examines the contrivance before he bites, and concludes to attack the bait from the rear. If the gun goes off he is generally found nearer the stock than the muzzle. An old half-breed, driven to fury by the depredations of a carcajou, placed a gun in a tree, with muzzle downward, and exposed on the ground beneath a tempting bait, which was fastened to the trigger. There was no attack- ing this trap in the rear. As the hunter ex- pected, the carcajou came to the spot and in- spected the bait. But his attention was at- tracted by that curious phenomenon in the tree above. What could that mean? Master Car- cajou did not know. He had never seen in all his experience a tree bearing fruit of that kind. But he thought he would be on the safe side. So he climbed the tree, guawed away the fastenings of the gun, saw it fall harmlessly in the snow, and then but not till then helped himself to the bait. Our English hunters tried the plan of ex- posing poisoned baits for the special benefit of the carcajon. Of twenty traps all alike ten were baited with meat containing strychnine. It was of no avail. On going to examine their traps they found that the sagacious brute had eaten all the wholesome baits, while he had bit- ten in two and thrown aside those which were poisoned. When pressed by hunger the carcajon will eat almost any thingold hoots, saddles, and all kind of groceries. A hunting party which had built a convenient log-hut with parchment windows, found, on returning from a hunt, that one of these animals had devoured their win- dows. It will not, however, attack mankind; its invariable sagacity teaching it that such meals would, on the average, cost more than they are worth. Were it otherwise minded, it would prove a formidable enemy, its strength being superior to that of any animal of these latitudes, the grizzly bear alone excepted. The long winter was spent by the travelers in hunting these animals, making excursions to the lakes in the neighborhood, and ,forming acquaintance with the Indians. The smaller lakes freeze solid to the bottom, and hence in the spring are found destitute of life. In some of the larger the fish seem to flock to air-holes, in obedience to a law with which ichthyology is yet unacquainted. At one place visited by the hunters an air-hole was found, to which fish thronged in such numbers that the water was thick with them: the snow in the neigh- THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 143 a a Q a a a a a 0 a a a a a aood was beaten bard by the woix erbi the The ladir os were of the ra.ce known as Wood usher, and the marten, which had evidently Crees, as contradistinguished from Plain Crees. lived on the fish, and scores of fat crows roost- The former re simply hores; the latter arc in~ in the trees adjacent gave proof that they mnrderers. A Plain Cree smokes the pipe of too knew the spot. Yet the sh conld not at peace with you, eats yonr pemmic~ n, and sleep. ny tim have heen more unmero a than they under yonr hlanket; next morning he steals were when onr travelers saw the p1 ce. yonr horse, and abont dusk he tomahawks and 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. scalps you. The Wood Crees are not given to tomahawking and scalping. They merely sit with you on a visit for three days and nights, and sing you songs all night, to which it is the height of ill-breeding, and occasionally death, not to listen patiently. On the third evening you generally consider the Plain Cree the bet-. ter creature of the two. If [ were a Plain Cree said an angry Wood Cree to Dr. Cheadle, drawing his knife, and feeling with the point for a soft place in the Doctors anatomy. But you are not, replied the Doctor with perfect equanimity, and so youd better keep that tool to cut up buffalo. And the savage, arrested in his purpose by the firmness of the white man, slunk away dis- comfited. It does not do to let an Indian, be he Wood Indian or Plain Indian, smell spirits. It op- erates on them like oil of rhodium on rats. Spill a wine-glassful of rum or whisky on the snow, and Indians ten miles away will scent it, and come swarming to the place demanding liquor. Why does not our good mother, said a chief to Lord Milton, alluding to Queen Vic- toria, send her red children fire-water? We want and must have it. More than once, even among friendly In- dians, the exhibition of spirits had well-nigh cost the party their lives. Once, at least, a band of Indians, after exhausting entreaty and menace, resorted to actual violence, and the Englishmen were only saved from murder by the courage and strength of a half-breed, who, Ajax-like, seized the leading chief, a corpulent man, in his arms, raised him in air, dashed him senseless and bleeding on the ground, and threatened to do the like to the next disturber of the peace. The Indian is now what he was two centuries since. The passion for drink is the strongest in his nature, and when gratified he becomes the wildest of wild beasts. A touching story of Indian heroism is told by Lord Milton. An Indian hunter had come to the hut with his son, a boy of thirteen, and had obtained llquor enough to stupefy him. The two savages started homeward at night- fall. Overcome by the liquor he had drnnk, and benumbed by the cold winter air, the fa- ther fell on his hands and knees in crossing a lake, and soon lay down to sleep. The boy, terribly frightened, but with complete presence of mind, dragged his father off the ice into a thicket, built a fire and laid him alongside, covering him with every blanket and skin he had. All night longa terrible night, with the thermometer 200 below zero that boy tended the fire, and watched over his drunken father, never once thinking of himself or at- tempting to take his share of the blankets. When morning came the father awoke well and unharmed, and the pair pursued their journey homeward. Indian dogs are about as curious animals as their masters. In the far north they do the work of horses, haul packs, draw ~leighs, and drag their owners over many a mile of snow- drift, living themselves on the merest pittance. Our travelers generally found the dogs ill-bred, ill-tempered, and prone to give as much trou- ble a~ they could.. At every difficult point in the road they would either lose the trail and upset the packs, or they would lie down and refuse to move until kicked and beaten within an inch of their lives. When well-trained and well-managed, however, they do wonders. It is known that, in Northern Michigan, much of the mail service is done, and done well and regularly, by dogs. A pack of Carlton House dogs traveled seventy miles in twenty-four hours without food or water, drawing a sleigh in which lay their owner wrapped in buffalo robes. This is as good as can be told of the best horses. Both dogs and men suffer frightfully during the long winter of the Saskatchewan country. Every hunting-party meets Indians bent double ,from the emptiness of their stomachs. Even in the region where the buffalo most abounds it seems that the natives can not, as a rule, collect food enough in the fall to supply them during winter. Our travelers more than once experienced the pangs of hunger, and they saw Indians who, to the best of their belief, perish- ed afterward of actual starvation. Spring came at last, and in the first week of April the travelers bade adieu, not without regrets, to La Belle Prairie, and crossing the Saskatchewan journeyed slowly to Fort Pitt, where they arrived in the course of a fortnight without adventures of any kind Fort Pitt is the middle-ground between the Blackfeet and Plain Crees, and is usually chosen as the place for negotiations whenever these warlike tribes project a trnce. Many stories are told of the wars between the two races. On one occasion a Cree Indian, belated in a hunt, arrived at the Fort and begged for shelter, which could not be refused. Close after him arrived a par- ty of Blackfeet on horseback, who had tracked their enemy, and now demanded that he be surrendered to them. After reflection and some preparations for a fight, the Hudsons Bay Companys factor refused to surrender the Cree, but proposed to compromise. He agreed to keep the Cree safely within the Fort for a month. If at the end of that time the war continued between the two tribes the Blackfeet might come for him. But the Cree was to have one hundred yards start of his pursuers, and the latter were to be armed with nothing but their knives. The compromise was ac- cepted. The Blackfeet had no sooner taken their de- parture than the Cree was put into training. He was fed on semi-raw buffalo meat, and made to run every day from two to three miles. All luxuries and smoking were denied him. At the end of the month the Blackfeet appear- ed in strong force, demanding their pound of flesh. The factor and his men turned out well- S THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 147 0 a a a a a a a a 0 a a a a a S armed. From the Blackfeet all weapons ex- first, and his pursuers gained rapidly npon him. cept their knives were taken and stored in the The spectators began to shndder at the pros- fort. A distance of one hnndred yards was pect. But fter a minnte or two he began to staked ont, and the Cree was stationed at his recover. Instead of gaining on him the Black- post. At the signal both parties started to feet lost gronnd, and the intelligent training ran. The Cree, overcome by the prospect of of the previous month beginning to tell, the sudden and violent death, lost his nerve at Cree soon left his pursuers behind, and at last 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. outran them altogether and escaped safely into the woods. From Fort Pitt an easy journey of a few days through a beautiful rolling country bronght the travelers to Edmonton, in 1130 30,. The only feature of interest on the way was the sight of several deserted beaver dams. The beaver, which a few years ago. was almost extermin- ated in the service of the hatters, still exists, though in small numbers, on tributaries of the Saskatchewan. Instead of establishing power- ful camps, which could hold their own against fox or wolverine, and making nothing of fell- lug the largest trees to dam up mountain tor- rents, the beaver nowadays is a feeble, timor- ous creature, consorting with half a dozen of its own species, afraid of every other furred animal, and unable to saw through any tree thicker than a twig. By way of completing its disgrace the hunters despise it. Silk-worms have snperseded it in the service of the hatters, and it has not even the poor satisfaction of knowing that it is an object of envy among hunters. It is a creature of the past. As such, however, it has left an indelible mark on the country in which it lived. It was the cre- ator of most of the marshes existing in the Saskatchewan country. Streams which flowed pure and steady into the great lakes of that re- gion were so often and so thoroughly dammed by beavers that they have never since found their old beds, and now empty into great bogs spreading over miles of once fertile country. Nearly every stream between the Pembina and the Athabasca, with the single exception of the MLeod, has been destroyed by beav~rs, and nothing but vast pine swamps remain to mark their place. All this country between the Saskatchewan and the Athabasca is fertile. It will grow wheat, potatoes, and all the coarser grains in abundance. It contains large quantities of coal, of which wide seams are laid bare by the water-courses; but the coal is probably a late formation, burning with an earthy appearance and much smoke. Here, as throughout Brit- ish North America, the great trouble is the length and severity of the winter A priest, settled near Edmonton, bad occasion to make a winter journey over the snow. Caught by a snow-storm he cut down trees and built a fire. Next summer, happening to pass the place where he had encamped, he noticed that the trees which he haA cut down were still thirty feet high. The snow had fallen so thickly that it was hard enough to travel over at a height of thirty feet from the ground. What can ever be done with a country so cursed by nature? At Edmonton the Englishmen made their final preparations for crossing the country to the Pacific. They secured the services of a half-breed, who soon deserted them, an Indian who was known as the Assiniboine, his wife, and boy of thirteen; and an Irishman named OBrien forced himself upon them and became not the least of their sufferings. The seven had twelve horses, 100 pounds per man of flour and pemmican, an ample supply of ammuni- tion, and a modest quantity of salt, tea, and tobacco. Thus provided, in the first week in June they set out to find their way, through trackless wilds and over the Rocky Mountains, to the nearest port in British Columbiasome 750 miles distant. It took them three weeks to reach the base of the mountains. Thus far the journey was not perilous or arduous. The country was fine, there was ample forage for the cattle, and pigeons, partridge, and trout for the trAvelers. Once, in the evening, the Assiniboine, who had sallied from camp in search of game, stumbled on three grizzly bears, and his gun missing fire he ran some risk of parting forever from his companions. But being an old hunter he threw up his arms, stood his ground manfully, and shouted when Bruin advanced to the at- tack; which mode of procedure disconcerted the brute, and after a time led to his retreat. On another occasion the travelers incautiously lit a fire in a pine thicket. As the flames in- creased they spread noiselessly through the moss and dry leaves to the trees, and almost before the travelers could look round they were in the midst of a frightful conflagration which threatened the destruction of all their stores and horses. By good luck and energy, however, they overcame these perils, and on the last day of June began to ascend the great mountains of North America. So far as scenery went they were now fully rewarded for their labors. The view frosn the mountain ridges which they climbedgrim, bald - headed cliffs, smooth lakes, silent val- leys, long stretches of seemingly fertile cham- paign, though unconscious of human husband- rywas unequaled in their experience. We who have seen Bierstadts chef-doeuvre can realize the scene. But the travelers had too many cares to dwell on landscapes. To get the pack-horses up the steep mountain sides; to prevent their slipping over the rocks, and not only killing themselves but losing their in- estimable burden of pemmican, tea, and to- bacco, to get them and the packs safely across innumerable mountain torrents, swollen by spring rains, to provide them with food in mountain passes where not even a weed or a shrub can find room to grow; to ford streams running with the velocity of mill-races; to cross lakes too deep to be forded and not easily navigated by rafts; worst of all, to keep the Irishman, who was always in trouble and could neither help the party nor even take care of his horse or himself, from coming to sore grief, were toils quite sufficient to engross the minds of even such energetic travelers as our English- men. About the 12th July the summit of the mountains was reached, and the party began to descend the Pacific slope. They had, as they supposed, achieved the most difficult por- tion of their task. They were not over two or THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 149 three hundred miles from Kamloops, in British rent, and, too stupid to find his way to shore, Columbia. A months hard travel they reck- was carried down stream and lost. With him oned would bring them out once more into a perished all the tea, salt, and tobacco; all the semi-civilized country. So they pushed on ammunition except what the travelers had on bravely, their persons; all their spare clothes, buffalo Their first great misfortune was the loss of a robes, and what was of least value, their money pack-horse which strayed into a mountain tor- and letters of credit. At first this seemed a HAIIPEES NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 4 a a stunning blow. No more pipes. no more tea, rapid current was caught and saved by the no more dry clothes, Nothing to eat besides faithful Assiniboine. what game might be met but a little pemm~- Resigning themselves to this privation the can and flour. At the same time another travelers made a raft and began to float down pack-horse, known as Bucephalus, had fall- one of the mountain streams. Very shortb en into the stream and was swept down; but the stream became a torrent, the raft was hur- after having been carried two miles down the ned along with the velocity of a cataract, and, 150 TJIE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 151 strikin~ against a fallen tree, was swept under They were in a disheartening position. Ex- with its freight, leaving Lord Milton and the plorations on every side reported dense thickets Assiniboine woman hanging to the branches. throngh which neither man nor horse could pass They were rescued with difficulty, and the without great exertion. Their provisions were party then abandoned the plan of floating redaced to three days supply for the party. down stream and followed an old trail, which No game or fowl were in sight. No Indians SoQa came to a sndden end. I lived in the neighborhood. The travelers 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. g 0 z a clothes and moccasins were in rags. The As siniboine, who had lost one hand many years horses were half-starved and so weak that they before by the explosioa of a gun, was now crip- could barely walk; having no other forage pled in the other. than twigs and leaves. It was nearly the first They had to choose between taking their of August. To add to all, the Englishmen had chances on a raft on the Thompson River, and lost their axe, and had nothing left to fell trees cutting a path for themselves through the with but a small hatchet; and their guide, the forest to Kamloops, then some 130 miles dig THE B ITISH CUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 153 t nt. The first plan involved such imminent every size and every shape, entangled in every risk of life that it was abandoned for the lat- possible combination. Around these f lien trees ter. But to traverse that forest was no holiday grew thickets of prickly shrub, whose leaves and pastime. Fallen trees lay piled around in har- twigs are armedwith sharp spines, strong enough riers six to eight feet high; living trunks, dead to pierce a moccasin, and sharp enough to draw trunks, rotten trunks; prostrate, reclining, the hlood from hand or arm. Through this coun- ropped up at eve possible angle; tre s of try our travelers undertook to march. VOL. XXXII.No. 188.L 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. z z n 0 0 54 54 54 0 0 54 0 54 0 The Assiniboine led the way, with the hatch- and vigorous, volunteered to take her husbands et cutting a trail; the rest of the party followed place, and led the party with a steadiness and leading the horses. In the course of a day or perseverance worthy of the stronger sex. So two the Indian was disabled by incessant con- difficult was the country that they made but tact with the thorns, and Dr. Cheadle took his five to six miles a day; and on 7th August it place. He too being disabled, the party were was calculated that they were still 100 miles in a quandary. But the Indian woman, wiry from Kamloops. THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 155 a 0 a a e They had put themselves on short rations, soup-kettle with a sparing hand. One even- and lived exclusively on a sort of soup made of ing, almost in despair, they resolved to send j)emmican and flour, and strengthened by an the Assinihoine out next morning on a voyage occasional skunk or partridge shot by the way- of discovery, to see if there might not he some side. The pemmican being nearly exhausted settlement, or Indian camp, or qpen country they killed a horse, dried his fleshpoor hrute! within reach. lie returned at evening bearing there wasnt much of itand doled it into the ~ marten, and saying: 156 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. a a z 0 z a a .Ja~ trouv~ ceci, et an rnort[J found this, parchment over the hony frame. The head and a dead man]. was gonewhither aad how aone could tell. The dead man was soon visited hy the party. By the side of the corpse were an axe, flint and He was in a sitting posture, with the legs cross- steel, tinder, fish-hooks and line, and a heap ed and the arms clasped over the knees, head- of hones hitten and crunched to the smallest ing forward over the ashes of a miserahle fire pieces. The wretched creature had evidently of pine sticks. The skin was stretched like died of starvation. THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A P CIFIC RAILROAD. 157 a a a a a a This was not encouraging. The chances 1 for want of trying to save themselves, Da were fair that the travelers would share the after day, with empty stomachs and weak limbs, de d Indians fate. Even th Assiniboine be- j they toiled through the forest, comforting each gnu to despair, and at a difficult ford actually other, a d calculating, day by day and ho r b s t down and declared he would go no further. hour, how much ne~ rer they were getting to But the Enjishmen had more nerve, or more Kamloops. euse. Perish they might, but it would not be At last, on 18th Ang~ st, their ears were 1i18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a 0 ~5 a 0 a o o a a reeted by a strange soundthe caw of a crow. luxuriated. A trail, well marked and beaten, With one accord all shouted with joy and was soon found; the weather brightened np, thankfulness. The crow meant open country and despair gave way to exuberant delight. at hand and sure enough, on 22d, after three They knew that they were not far now from days more heavy labor among the fallen timber, civilization. the half starved party emerged on a plain coy- On the following day the travelers discov- r d with grass, on which the emaciated c ttle ered a human footprint in the sand, and r& THE BRITISH ROUTE FOR A PACIFIC RAILROAD. 159 joiced over it as wildly as Robinson Crusoe was terrified by the same phenomenon. Next day Indians appeared, one of whom offered for sale potatoes, which our ravenous Englishmen de- voured raw, being too hungry to~wait to cook them. But it was not till five days afterward that the party caught sight of a civilized dwell- ing. Of their rush to reach it; of the supper of bacon and cabbage and cakes, washed down with vast bowls of tea; of the amazement with which the Indians and dwellers at the place watched the gastronomical performance of the wasted and ragged wanderers; of the stony sleep which followed under a sound roofwhat traveler needs to be told? Through what peril they had safely passed they hardly knew till they heard the sad story of five Canadians who had attempted the same journey the year previous. They were three brothers named Rennie, and two men named Heistone and Wright. Deeming it impossible to work their way through the woods, they hnd lashed two canoes together, and committed themselves to the mercies of the Fraser River. In a rapid their canoes were overturned, their provisions lost, and, while two of the Rennies succeeded in gaining the shore, the other three travelers were left on a rock in the stream. There they remained forty-eight hours, without food, and with the water freezing all round them. When they were taken off they were too badly frost-bitten to move. The two Ron- nies collected for them a stock of fire-wood, and leaving them nearly all their provisions started for help to Fort Kamloops, which they reck- oned was six days distant. They little knew the delays of travel in these virgin forests. They were twenty - eight days, and nearly starved to death, when they reached the fort,, and it was many weeks before a party of In- dians, wandering through the wild in search of game, came upon the spot where the three Ca- nadians had been left. They afterward report- ed that they saw not three, but two men, wild and savage, who were eating the legs of a dead man; and who, when the Indians approached, drew their revolvers and frightened them away. In the following spring the place was revisited. The bones of two men were found piled in a heap; one skull had been split open with an axe, and many of the other bones showed the mark of teeth. The body of the third man was found, stripped of clothing, in the neighbor- hood. He had evidently murdered and eaten his comrades, and in his turn had been killed by the Indians for the sake of his clothes gun. Kamloops presented no points of interest to travelers who had seen the Hudsons Bay Com- panys stations all the way from Red River; so after obtaining new clothing, and repairing the damage done by continued fasts, our trav- elers hastened down the country to Yale, New Westminster, the capital of the colony, aud the sea. A few days were spent in a visit to the Fraser River diggings, and the gold-hunter was duly examined in his native puritywithout, however, developing any characteristics which Californian storyhas not made familiar to us all. Our authors* thus compare the British Col- onies with California: British Columbia, rich beyond conception in many ways, is not an agricultural country. Vancouver Island, too, is merely a huge rock, in the hollows of which vegetable mould has collected. But this is often too shallow to be worked with the plow, and these fertile oases are generally of small extentfit for gardens rather than farms. In consequence, therefore, of the deficiency of the two colonies in this respect, their popu- lation is still supplied with provisions from Cal- ifornia, and their gold goes into the pockets of Americans. California is probably the richest country in the world. Possessing every valu- able mineral in inexhaustible abundanceex- cept coal, which has not been yet found in any quantityshe has also a soil of extraordinary fertility. Her mountains are of gold and sil- ver, and her valleys as the land of Goshen. Wheat grows so luxuriantly that volunteer cropsthe produce of the second and even third year from the seed shaken out in the gathering of the previous harvestspring up without the labor of man. Fruits of every kindfrom the apples, pears, and grapes of temperate climes, to the ping-apples and ba- nanas of the tropicscome to perfection with- in her limits. Oats grow wild on the slopes of the Sierra Nevada; and in the alluvial plains, besides the ordinary cereals, flourish maize, to- bacco, and cotton. It is far otherwise with British Colum- bia. She probably equals California in miner- al wealth, but, being as it were a mere contin- uation of the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific, a sea of hills, a land of mountains and forests, or shingly swells and terraces covered with bunch-grass, the farmer looks in vain for rich alluvial valleys. These travelersmen competent to judge, and decidedly British in their prejudicescon- firm an impression previously entertained by many in this country, that the northern limit of productive country on the Pacific shore lies south of the Boundary Line. Oregon and Washington will have to feed all the miners on Frasers River. * The Northwest Passage by Land; being the Narra- tive of an Expedition from the Atlantic to the Pacific, un- dertaken with the view of Exploring a Route across the Continent to British Columbia through British Territory, by one of the Northern Passes in the nocky Mountains,. By Viscount MILTON, F.R.G.S., F.G.S., etc., and W. B. (iHEADLE, MA., M.D. Cantab., F.LtG.S. With Map~ and numerous Illustrations. In press by Harper and Brothers. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A SPOT REVISITED. THOU hast not fallen to decay, 0 ever-buoyant Nature! The streams have kept their wonted way, The trees their olden stature. The same sweet-singing waterfall Through the green valley leaping, The same calm snnshine over all In benediction sleeping. For Nature keeps her olden course As something fixed and holy; Her streams, with all their ceaseless force, Wear their new channels slowly. While in the rock she cuts one groove For passage of a river, Our life slips down the whole remove From Tinge to the Forever. The acorn cone she hides in earth Long dews and suns must cherish; And all her things of highest worth Grow slowly, slowly perish. Only this human life of ours, So full of wondrous promise, Dies quickly as the summer flowers That evening taketh from us. And I am changed since when I stood In this eternal shadow, And saw beneath me field and wood, The river and the meadow. Not all the same I come to thee, Dear spot by memory haunted; Unchanged in this, that still to me Thou art a land enchanted.

Caroline Seymour Seymour, Caroline A Spot Revisited 160-161

160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A SPOT REVISITED. THOU hast not fallen to decay, 0 ever-buoyant Nature! The streams have kept their wonted way, The trees their olden stature. The same sweet-singing waterfall Through the green valley leaping, The same calm snnshine over all In benediction sleeping. For Nature keeps her olden course As something fixed and holy; Her streams, with all their ceaseless force, Wear their new channels slowly. While in the rock she cuts one groove For passage of a river, Our life slips down the whole remove From Tinge to the Forever. The acorn cone she hides in earth Long dews and suns must cherish; And all her things of highest worth Grow slowly, slowly perish. Only this human life of ours, So full of wondrous promise, Dies quickly as the summer flowers That evening taketh from us. And I am changed since when I stood In this eternal shadow, And saw beneath me field and wood, The river and the meadow. Not all the same I come to thee, Dear spot by memory haunted; Unchanged in this, that still to me Thou art a land enchanted. MORE WITNESSES. 161 MORE WITNESSES. thing that is at all calculated to afford either amusement or instruction. He produces his considerable amusement (not with any design on his part, however) by means well known to the two end men in a band of nigger serenaders. Counsel screwing his glass in his eye, and putting on his most searching expression, says: Now2 Sir; on your oath, did you not know that the deceased had made a will ? The wit- ness hesitates, and looks idiotic. Answer me, Sir, roars the counsel, and remember you are on your oath. Did you not know that the deceased had made a will ? The witness answers at last, Well, Sir, I was; which causes considerable amusement in court, and greatly provokes the examining counsel. Now, Sir, since I have been able to screw so much out of you, perhaps you will answer me this question: What did the deceased die of? The witness does not appear to understand. What did the deceased die of? the coun- sel repeats. He died of a Tuesday, Sir, says the wit- ness, with the utmost gravity. And of course the audience go into convulsions, aad the crier has to restore order in court. This witness is never of the slightest service in elucidating a case, and counsel are generally glad to get rid of him, except when the pro- ceedings are getting flat and want enlivening. Some counsel like a butt of this kind to shoot the arrows of their wit at; just as wanton street- boys like to tease and make sport of an idiot. IN discoursing concerning witnesses in a re- cent Number of this Magazine, the theory was broached, that the givers of evidence in the courts of justice were so far like true poets as that they are born, not made. Testis nascitur, non fit. The first person who steps into the box on the present occasion is a remarkable example in point. He is the witness who causes con- siderable amusement in court. Some persons may be disposed to find fault with the reporter for his uniform adherence to the use of the word considerable. Why not much, or great ? No; the reporter is right. Other persons might cause niuch, or great, or little amusement; but considerable is the exact measure of this persons power of excit- ing risibility combined with perplexity and wonder. He does not do it intentionally; he does not know that he is doing it, and his fun is of a very dubious kind. Therefore the amazement which it causes is considerable. Some laugh at him, others think him a fool; and the counsel who is cross-examining him is probably a little out of temper. This witness is not a complete success one way or another. He is neither a triumph to his own party, nor a defeat to the opposite side. All that he does in a definite way is to cause considerable amusement in court. The odd, unique, and almost paradoxical thing about this witness is that he never causes amusement in any degree, considerable or otherwise, any where else. At home he is simply lumpy and stupid; abroad in the world, he is a heavy impediment in every bodys way. He is a very unlikely flint indeed, and no one thinks of attempting to strike fire out of him. The next witness who steps into the box is He is about as likely a medium for that purpose a charge sheet in himself so expressive is he as a slice of Dutch cheese. It is only when in every feature, and in his whole style, of you pen him in a witness-box, and strike him a tipsy row in the Bowery, with beating of stupid with your legal eye, in presence of judge the police, and attempts to rescue from ens- and jury, that you can make him yield any tody. It is quite unnecessary for the active THE WITNESS WHO CAUSED AMUSEMENT iN COURT. I THE MEDICAL STUDENT.

More Witnesses 161-164

MORE WITNESSES. 161 MORE WITNESSES. thing that is at all calculated to afford either amusement or instruction. He produces his considerable amusement (not with any design on his part, however) by means well known to the two end men in a band of nigger serenaders. Counsel screwing his glass in his eye, and putting on his most searching expression, says: Now2 Sir; on your oath, did you not know that the deceased had made a will ? The wit- ness hesitates, and looks idiotic. Answer me, Sir, roars the counsel, and remember you are on your oath. Did you not know that the deceased had made a will ? The witness answers at last, Well, Sir, I was; which causes considerable amusement in court, and greatly provokes the examining counsel. Now, Sir, since I have been able to screw so much out of you, perhaps you will answer me this question: What did the deceased die of? The witness does not appear to understand. What did the deceased die of? the coun- sel repeats. He died of a Tuesday, Sir, says the wit- ness, with the utmost gravity. And of course the audience go into convulsions, aad the crier has to restore order in court. This witness is never of the slightest service in elucidating a case, and counsel are generally glad to get rid of him, except when the pro- ceedings are getting flat and want enlivening. Some counsel like a butt of this kind to shoot the arrows of their wit at; just as wanton street- boys like to tease and make sport of an idiot. IN discoursing concerning witnesses in a re- cent Number of this Magazine, the theory was broached, that the givers of evidence in the courts of justice were so far like true poets as that they are born, not made. Testis nascitur, non fit. The first person who steps into the box on the present occasion is a remarkable example in point. He is the witness who causes con- siderable amusement in court. Some persons may be disposed to find fault with the reporter for his uniform adherence to the use of the word considerable. Why not much, or great ? No; the reporter is right. Other persons might cause niuch, or great, or little amusement; but considerable is the exact measure of this persons power of excit- ing risibility combined with perplexity and wonder. He does not do it intentionally; he does not know that he is doing it, and his fun is of a very dubious kind. Therefore the amazement which it causes is considerable. Some laugh at him, others think him a fool; and the counsel who is cross-examining him is probably a little out of temper. This witness is not a complete success one way or another. He is neither a triumph to his own party, nor a defeat to the opposite side. All that he does in a definite way is to cause considerable amusement in court. The odd, unique, and almost paradoxical thing about this witness is that he never causes amusement in any degree, considerable or otherwise, any where else. At home he is simply lumpy and stupid; abroad in the world, he is a heavy impediment in every bodys way. He is a very unlikely flint indeed, and no one thinks of attempting to strike fire out of him. The next witness who steps into the box is He is about as likely a medium for that purpose a charge sheet in himself so expressive is he as a slice of Dutch cheese. It is only when in every feature, and in his whole style, of you pen him in a witness-box, and strike him a tipsy row in the Bowery, with beating of stupid with your legal eye, in presence of judge the police, and attempts to rescue from ens- and jury, that you can make him yield any tody. It is quite unnecessary for the active THE WITNESS WHO CAUSED AMUSEMENT iN COURT. I THE MEDICAL STUDENT. 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and intelligent officer to enter into details. We see the case at a glance. Mr. Slaphang has been making free. He has visited a mu- sic hall or two, where he has joined in the chorus; he has danced at a casino; he has par- taken of deviled kidneys at a night supper-room; and visiting all these places in a jovial and reck- less humor, he has disregarded that wholesome convivial maxim which says that you should never mix your liquors. Mr. Slaphang has mixed his liquors, the consequence being a dis- position to beat his stick against lamp-posts, to wake the midnight echoes with lul-li-e-ty, and to show his independence by resisting the authority of the police, and perhaps offering them that most unpardonable of all insults, known to the force voilence. When Mr. Slaphang appears in the dock he makes a great effort, conscious of the presence of his friends, to keep his courage up. The gloss and glory of his attire have been some- what dimmed by a nights durance in the cells; but what he has lost in this respect he endeav- ors to make up for by a jaunty devil-may-care manner. He says he was fresh, or sprung,~~ and didnt know what he was doing, with quite a grand air, as if it were a high privilege of his order to get drunk and resist the police. His manner almost implies that it is quite a condescension on his part to come there and allow the magistrate to have any thing to say in the matter. There is not such a very great difference between the conduct of this gentle- manly offender and that of the hardened crim- inal who throws his shoe at the judge, or de- clares, when sentence is pronounced, that he could do that little lot on his head. Mr. Slaphang throws insolent glances at the bench, and when he is fined, instantly brings out a handful of money with an air that says plainly Fine away; make it double if you like: its nothing to me. When Mr. Slaphang leaves the court with his friends, he is the centre of a sort of triumphal procession: you would not think that he had b~en subjugated to the au- thority of the law, but rather that he had tri- umphed over it. His friends are very like himself. In most cases they are the companions of his revelry, ~ho have been more fortunate than Mr. Slaphang in eluding the clutches of the police. When Mr. Slaphang leaves the court with his friends, he usually proceeds di- rect to the first public house, where the com- pany sarcastically drink to the jolly good health of the M. P. In the police reports next morning he is described as A young gentle- man, a medical student, who paid the fine, and immediately left the court with his friends. The witness who insists that black is white is one of those self-conceited persons, who, when they once say a thing, stick to it at all hazards. He has no intention of being dis- honest, or of saying that which is not true; but he has a great idea of his 6wn infallibil- ity, and a nervous dread of being thought the weak-minded person that he really is. He is the sort of person who likes to be an author- ity in a public-house parlor; who can not bear to be contradicted, and who will not allow any authority to overweigh his own. I have heard him in the pride of his knowledgefor he pre- tends to know every thingand in the fullness of his conceit, make a bet that between you and I is correct, and refuse to be convinced of his error, even when the decision has been given against him by a referee of his own choos- ing. This witness always enters the box with the fond idea that he will prove too much for the counsel, but in the end it generally happens that counsel prove too much for him. Conceit is like prideliable to have a fall; but, unlike pride, it does not always feel the smart. It has a thick skin. The witness who expresses astonishment and indignation at the doubts which counsel throw upon his accuracy and veracity is a variety of the same type. He is also conceited, but he has, at the same time, an inordinate idea ef his own importance. He is a man who studies THE ~VLTN 55 WhO 5WEAii5 THAT BLACK iS WHITE. THE ASTONIShED AND iNDiGNANT WITNESS. MORE WITNESSES. 163 appearances, and makes up for the character which he delights to enact through life. He loves to be grumpy and testy, and in his own sphere he is a sort of Scotch thistle who allows no one to meddle with him with impunity. Naturally when an audacious hand, gloved with the protection of the law, rudely seizes hold of him, and Munts the point of his bristles, he doesnt like it. He is an easy prey to counsel, as every witness is who stands upon his dig- nity or importance, and gets upset from that high pedestal. The young lady whose affections the defend- ant has trifled with and blighted is generally of the order of female known as interesting. And when she is interesting she always gains the day. A judge recently statedalmost com- plainedthat there is no getting juries to find a young and interesting female guilty of any thingeven when guilt is brought home to her without the possibility of a doubt. Counsel know this well, and, I am told, always instruct a young and interesting female how to comport herself so as to make an impression upon the jury. The stage directions, I believe, are some- thing like this. Enter the box (or the dock, as the case may be) with your veil down. This gives me occasion to tell you to raise your veil and show your face to the jury. When you do this burst into tears and use your white cam- bric pocket-handkerchief. Then let the jury see your pretty eyes red with weeping, and your damask cheek blanched with anguish and coursed with bitter tears. When you are hard pressed by the opposing counsel begin to sob, and grasp the rail as if for support. You will then be accommodated with a scent-bottle and a chair; and the jury will think the cross-ex- amining counsel a brute, and you an injured angel. Observance of these directions by a young and interesting female never fails. She will get clear off, even if she have murdered her grandmother. In a simple case of blighted affection there is no need to take so much trouble. Only let the lady be well dressed, and look pretty, and it is obvious at once (to the jury) that the de- fendant is not only heartless and cruel in the last degree, but utterly insensible to the charms of youth and innocence. Yet in nine cases out of ten this interesting female who weeps and sobs, and uses her smelling-bottle, is an artful schemer. Look at the gentleman who trifled with her affections. Is that the sort of person to kindle in any female breast the devouring flame of love? Is he the sort of person to love any one but himself, or to cherish any thing but his whiskers. He is a trifler, it is true, but he has not trifled with that interesting and artful females heart, because she has no heart to trifle with. She might sue him for wasting her time, but not for breaking her heart. if YOUNG LADY WHOSE AFFECTIONS hIATT BEEN TRIFLED WiTH. THE (IENTLEMAN WHO TRIFLED WITh THEM. 164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE HOLIDAYS. 1.CHRISTMAS TO NEW-YEARS EVE. ALFRED, the wisest and best of English kings, who first reigned over all England, and who truly deserved the title of Great, with a view to the welfare and happiness of his subjects, established a decree that thenceforth the holidays should begin with Christmas and end with Twelfth-Night, or the Epiphany. Al- though the laws of King Alfred were not as immutable as the laws of the Medes and Per- sians, his decree has remained operative longer than any of theirs; for even at the present time, when nearly ten centuries have glided by, thousands regard the twelve days included within the prescribed limits as par excellence THE HOLIDAYS. Habit, which soon establishes its authority, and exerts a strong influence over the ways of man in every nation, has doubtless rendered the posterity of King Alfred ready to honor the custom of the Saxon Monarch in the observance ; and who have thus be- come to the manner born. It was a right good decree, however, of King Alfred, one well worthy to be honored among the noble laws which will be ever dear to Merrie England. In viewing the holidays and their associa- tions the first day which naturally attracts our attention is Christmas. If it be true, as re- marked by Cicero, that the days of our pres- ervation are not less illustrious than the days of our birth, with what unfeigned joy and gratitude should not the inhabitants of a Chris- tian land hail the anniversary of the Nativity, the Birthday of the great Redeemer who came to Restore us and regain the blissful seat! When the foundations of the earth were laid the morning stars sang together, and when the Saviour Christ was born the host of heaven joined in angelic symphony. Christmas is a day in which all have a share, in *hich all can rejoice. Yet the emotions which it excites are peculiar. Surrounded by nothing that is at- tractive in nature, when No mark of vegetable life is seen, Save the dark leaves of some rude evergreen, it comes in the Wintermonatha dreary monthof all the months the gloomiest of the year. There is, however, a joy within, in- spired by the thoughts and associations to which the season gives birth, that triumphs over external nature, and often brings a ray of gladness even to those whose hearts are weary. Yes, on this festival we would all join in saying with honest George Wither: Without the door let sorrow lie; And if for cold it hap to die, Well buryt in Christmas pie, And evermore be merry. Reader, you have heard of the Magi, * those wise men of the East, who, nightly watching the courses of the stars through an atmosphere so pure that the little moons of Jupiter are visible to the nnassisted eye, gather imaginary knowledge from the heavens, and calculate the horoscopes of men. Three of these sages known in legendary lore as Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazarwarned by the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, which occurred upon the 20th of May, in the year of the worid 4004,* and no doubt otherwise divinely instructed, left their distant homes to seek him who should be born King of the Jews, whose star they had seen in the East. They traveled toward the Holy City, and on their way, during the 27th of October, witnessed again the conjunction of the great planets. Reaching Jerusalem prob- ably some time in November, they asked: Where is he that is born King of the Jews ? It is worthy of note that the Magi did not in- quire after the King of Israelthe theocratic name which our Saviour was afterward chal- lenged to prove his right to by coming down from the crossbut after the King of the Jews, thereby showing that they were Gentiles and ignorant of IsraeL Herod the Great, who tben reigned over Judea, being a usurper, was naturally alarmed at the question of the Magi: Where is he who is born King of the Jews ? He immedi- ately investigated the matter, and, in or~ler that he might the more readily effect the destruc- tion of the child, pretended to take a deep in- terest in the approaching monarch, and even expressed a desire to join in worshiping him. The Magi having ascertained that Bethlehem __The House of Breadwas the City of David where Christ, the Bread which cometh down from heaven, should be born, resumed their journey. On the 12th of November a third conjunction of the two great planets oc- curred, and as no conjunction in the science of astrology is of deeper import, they were con- firmed in their previous convictions of the dig- nity and honor which must attach to the child whose house of life was thus singularly distin- guished. They had seen his star in the East, and like Pharaohs dream, a vision of it had been doubled to them ~j the way. On the 25th of Decemberf the Saviour, which is Christ the Lord, was born into the world. His mother while at Bethlehem was enrolled, and the record of her enrollment, as preserved in the Roman archives Mary of whom Christ was bornhas fortunately been handed down to us by Tertullian. The exact time of the arrival of the Magi at Bethlehem is unknown. In all probability it * This is the vulgar date. The true date, according to the latest chronological investigation, was AM. 3098. t After an exhaustive investigation Dr. Jarvis has proven that the Nativity took place on the 25th of De- cember, AM. 3098. We may say, therefore, in the words of the old carol: God rest you, merry gentlemen I Let nothing you dismay; Remember Christ our Saviour Was born on Christmas-day. * See Aarostus Greek Testament and Txxoecus Wise Men. We are indebted to them and Mrs. Jameson for most of our information in regard to the Magi.

George C. McWhorter McWhorter, George C. Christmas to New Year's Eve 164

164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE HOLIDAYS. 1.CHRISTMAS TO NEW-YEARS EVE. ALFRED, the wisest and best of English kings, who first reigned over all England, and who truly deserved the title of Great, with a view to the welfare and happiness of his subjects, established a decree that thenceforth the holidays should begin with Christmas and end with Twelfth-Night, or the Epiphany. Al- though the laws of King Alfred were not as immutable as the laws of the Medes and Per- sians, his decree has remained operative longer than any of theirs; for even at the present time, when nearly ten centuries have glided by, thousands regard the twelve days included within the prescribed limits as par excellence THE HOLIDAYS. Habit, which soon establishes its authority, and exerts a strong influence over the ways of man in every nation, has doubtless rendered the posterity of King Alfred ready to honor the custom of the Saxon Monarch in the observance ; and who have thus be- come to the manner born. It was a right good decree, however, of King Alfred, one well worthy to be honored among the noble laws which will be ever dear to Merrie England. In viewing the holidays and their associa- tions the first day which naturally attracts our attention is Christmas. If it be true, as re- marked by Cicero, that the days of our pres- ervation are not less illustrious than the days of our birth, with what unfeigned joy and gratitude should not the inhabitants of a Chris- tian land hail the anniversary of the Nativity, the Birthday of the great Redeemer who came to Restore us and regain the blissful seat! When the foundations of the earth were laid the morning stars sang together, and when the Saviour Christ was born the host of heaven joined in angelic symphony. Christmas is a day in which all have a share, in *hich all can rejoice. Yet the emotions which it excites are peculiar. Surrounded by nothing that is at- tractive in nature, when No mark of vegetable life is seen, Save the dark leaves of some rude evergreen, it comes in the Wintermonatha dreary monthof all the months the gloomiest of the year. There is, however, a joy within, in- spired by the thoughts and associations to which the season gives birth, that triumphs over external nature, and often brings a ray of gladness even to those whose hearts are weary. Yes, on this festival we would all join in saying with honest George Wither: Without the door let sorrow lie; And if for cold it hap to die, Well buryt in Christmas pie, And evermore be merry. Reader, you have heard of the Magi, * those wise men of the East, who, nightly watching the courses of the stars through an atmosphere so pure that the little moons of Jupiter are visible to the nnassisted eye, gather imaginary knowledge from the heavens, and calculate the horoscopes of men. Three of these sages known in legendary lore as Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazarwarned by the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, which occurred upon the 20th of May, in the year of the worid 4004,* and no doubt otherwise divinely instructed, left their distant homes to seek him who should be born King of the Jews, whose star they had seen in the East. They traveled toward the Holy City, and on their way, during the 27th of October, witnessed again the conjunction of the great planets. Reaching Jerusalem prob- ably some time in November, they asked: Where is he that is born King of the Jews ? It is worthy of note that the Magi did not in- quire after the King of Israelthe theocratic name which our Saviour was afterward chal- lenged to prove his right to by coming down from the crossbut after the King of the Jews, thereby showing that they were Gentiles and ignorant of IsraeL Herod the Great, who tben reigned over Judea, being a usurper, was naturally alarmed at the question of the Magi: Where is he who is born King of the Jews ? He immedi- ately investigated the matter, and, in or~ler that he might the more readily effect the destruc- tion of the child, pretended to take a deep in- terest in the approaching monarch, and even expressed a desire to join in worshiping him. The Magi having ascertained that Bethlehem __The House of Breadwas the City of David where Christ, the Bread which cometh down from heaven, should be born, resumed their journey. On the 12th of November a third conjunction of the two great planets oc- curred, and as no conjunction in the science of astrology is of deeper import, they were con- firmed in their previous convictions of the dig- nity and honor which must attach to the child whose house of life was thus singularly distin- guished. They had seen his star in the East, and like Pharaohs dream, a vision of it had been doubled to them ~j the way. On the 25th of Decemberf the Saviour, which is Christ the Lord, was born into the world. His mother while at Bethlehem was enrolled, and the record of her enrollment, as preserved in the Roman archives Mary of whom Christ was bornhas fortunately been handed down to us by Tertullian. The exact time of the arrival of the Magi at Bethlehem is unknown. In all probability it * This is the vulgar date. The true date, according to the latest chronological investigation, was AM. 3098. t After an exhaustive investigation Dr. Jarvis has proven that the Nativity took place on the 25th of De- cember, AM. 3098. We may say, therefore, in the words of the old carol: God rest you, merry gentlemen I Let nothing you dismay; Remember Christ our Saviour Was born on Christmas-day. * See Aarostus Greek Testament and Txxoecus Wise Men. We are indebted to them and Mrs. Jameson for most of our information in regard to the Magi.

George C. McWhorter McWhorter, George C. The Holidays 164-173

164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE HOLIDAYS. 1.CHRISTMAS TO NEW-YEARS EVE. ALFRED, the wisest and best of English kings, who first reigned over all England, and who truly deserved the title of Great, with a view to the welfare and happiness of his subjects, established a decree that thenceforth the holidays should begin with Christmas and end with Twelfth-Night, or the Epiphany. Al- though the laws of King Alfred were not as immutable as the laws of the Medes and Per- sians, his decree has remained operative longer than any of theirs; for even at the present time, when nearly ten centuries have glided by, thousands regard the twelve days included within the prescribed limits as par excellence THE HOLIDAYS. Habit, which soon establishes its authority, and exerts a strong influence over the ways of man in every nation, has doubtless rendered the posterity of King Alfred ready to honor the custom of the Saxon Monarch in the observance ; and who have thus be- come to the manner born. It was a right good decree, however, of King Alfred, one well worthy to be honored among the noble laws which will be ever dear to Merrie England. In viewing the holidays and their associa- tions the first day which naturally attracts our attention is Christmas. If it be true, as re- marked by Cicero, that the days of our pres- ervation are not less illustrious than the days of our birth, with what unfeigned joy and gratitude should not the inhabitants of a Chris- tian land hail the anniversary of the Nativity, the Birthday of the great Redeemer who came to Restore us and regain the blissful seat! When the foundations of the earth were laid the morning stars sang together, and when the Saviour Christ was born the host of heaven joined in angelic symphony. Christmas is a day in which all have a share, in *hich all can rejoice. Yet the emotions which it excites are peculiar. Surrounded by nothing that is at- tractive in nature, when No mark of vegetable life is seen, Save the dark leaves of some rude evergreen, it comes in the Wintermonatha dreary monthof all the months the gloomiest of the year. There is, however, a joy within, in- spired by the thoughts and associations to which the season gives birth, that triumphs over external nature, and often brings a ray of gladness even to those whose hearts are weary. Yes, on this festival we would all join in saying with honest George Wither: Without the door let sorrow lie; And if for cold it hap to die, Well buryt in Christmas pie, And evermore be merry. Reader, you have heard of the Magi, * those wise men of the East, who, nightly watching the courses of the stars through an atmosphere so pure that the little moons of Jupiter are visible to the nnassisted eye, gather imaginary knowledge from the heavens, and calculate the horoscopes of men. Three of these sages known in legendary lore as Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazarwarned by the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, which occurred upon the 20th of May, in the year of the worid 4004,* and no doubt otherwise divinely instructed, left their distant homes to seek him who should be born King of the Jews, whose star they had seen in the East. They traveled toward the Holy City, and on their way, during the 27th of October, witnessed again the conjunction of the great planets. Reaching Jerusalem prob- ably some time in November, they asked: Where is he that is born King of the Jews ? It is worthy of note that the Magi did not in- quire after the King of Israelthe theocratic name which our Saviour was afterward chal- lenged to prove his right to by coming down from the crossbut after the King of the Jews, thereby showing that they were Gentiles and ignorant of IsraeL Herod the Great, who tben reigned over Judea, being a usurper, was naturally alarmed at the question of the Magi: Where is he who is born King of the Jews ? He immedi- ately investigated the matter, and, in or~ler that he might the more readily effect the destruc- tion of the child, pretended to take a deep in- terest in the approaching monarch, and even expressed a desire to join in worshiping him. The Magi having ascertained that Bethlehem __The House of Breadwas the City of David where Christ, the Bread which cometh down from heaven, should be born, resumed their journey. On the 12th of November a third conjunction of the two great planets oc- curred, and as no conjunction in the science of astrology is of deeper import, they were con- firmed in their previous convictions of the dig- nity and honor which must attach to the child whose house of life was thus singularly distin- guished. They had seen his star in the East, and like Pharaohs dream, a vision of it had been doubled to them ~j the way. On the 25th of Decemberf the Saviour, which is Christ the Lord, was born into the world. His mother while at Bethlehem was enrolled, and the record of her enrollment, as preserved in the Roman archives Mary of whom Christ was bornhas fortunately been handed down to us by Tertullian. The exact time of the arrival of the Magi at Bethlehem is unknown. In all probability it * This is the vulgar date. The true date, according to the latest chronological investigation, was AM. 3098. t After an exhaustive investigation Dr. Jarvis has proven that the Nativity took place on the 25th of De- cember, AM. 3098. We may say, therefore, in the words of the old carol: God rest you, merry gentlemen I Let nothing you dismay; Remember Christ our Saviour Was born on Christmas-day. * See Aarostus Greek Testament and Txxoecus Wise Men. We are indebted to them and Mrs. Jameson for most of our information in regard to the Magi. THE HOLIDAYS. 165 took place shortly after the 25th of December. As soon as they reached the abode of Joseph and Mary they announced the object of their journey; and adoring the heaven-born child after the manner of the East, they presented their threefold offerings: gold, in homage to His Majesty as King; mgrrh, as an anointing of Him who was appointed to die; frankincense, as an odor of sweet savor. We are indebted to tradition for this interpretation of the gifts of the Wise Men; it may be fanciful, but it is not the less beautiful, and certainly contains some truth. Their office performed and their duty discharged, the Magi returned to their distant homes, and thus escaped the snare which Herod had laid. Who these Magi were is a question which has always excited a great deal of interest. The most probable opinion is, says Doctor Jarvis, that they were Persian priests, of the religion of Zoroaster, who combined with their worship the knowledge of medical botany and astronomy. Why they were chosen, among all the Gentiles, to have the first knowledge of the new-born Messiah, and how they came to connect his birth with tha~t extraordinary ap- pearance in the heavens, are questions which can not be fully solved. The prophecy of Ba- Inam (Numbers, xxiv. 17), There shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel, may have been widely known in the East, and from age to age perpetuated. It bears an obvious relation to the prophecy, as- cribed to Zoroaster by the Persians, concern- ing Oskanderbegha, or the MAN OF THE WORLD, who should be born of a virgin; should cause the law of his Father to be received; and should confirm it by his miracles and the eloquence of his preaching. Another, but a Christian historian of the East, the celebrated Abulpha- ragi, relates that Zoroaster taught the Persians concerning the manifestation of Christ, and or- dered them to bring gifts to him in token of their reverence and submission. He declared that in the latter days a pure virgin would con- ceive, and that as soon as the child was born a star would appear above the splendor of day. You, nig sons, will perceive its rising before all other nations. When, therefore, you shall see the star, go whithersoever it shall direct you. Adore that child, offering him your gifts. He is the Word which created the heavens. Whatever may be thought of these prophe- cies, which possibly come down to us through a distorting medium, it is certain, from the representations of Suetonius, and Tacitus, and the Fourth Eclogue of Virgil, that a very surprising and general expectation prevailed among the heathen of a great benefactor of the human race who was then to be made manifest. Tradition informs us that the Magi passed the residue of their lives in India, where they were baptized, at an advanced age, by St. Thomas, the apostle of the far East. The same authority likewise tells us that their bones were removed to Milan by the Empress Helena, whence they were transferred by Barbarossa to Cologne, and enshrined in gold. In Ger- many they were long honored and distinguish- ed as The Three Kings of Cologne ; and during the Dark Ages pilgrimages were con- stantly made to their tombs, which were held in equal estimation with those of the saints. We have alluded to the threefold conjunc- tion of the planets Jupiter and Saturn which synchronized with the then approaching birth of Christ, and the journey of the Wise Men from the East. The latter had seen his star in the East. The coincidence is singular, es- pecially as the Magi were both astrologists and astronomers, and must therefore have been cognizant of whatever portents appeared in the heavens, and certainly would have been influ- enced by them. We do not mean, however, to affirm that a supernatural star did not ex- hibit itself at that time. Our Lords birth was miraculous, and may well have been attended by miraculous signs. We simply state the facts as curious and interesting. Immediately in connection with the birth of Christ occurred another sign too wonderful to be forgottenthe manifestation to the shep- herds of the heavenly host heralding the ad- vent of the Saviour. As St. Matthew, alone of the Evangelists, has recorded the visit of the Magi, so St. Luke is the only one who gives an account of that extraordinary scene by night on the hills of Juden. The story is too familiar to need repetition. Milton has included it in his sublime Ode on the~Na- tivitythe stately preluding of the Paradise. In the early days of the Church the Nativity was not observed as a regular festival. Ac- cording to Origen the great yearly festivals celebrated at that time were the Passover or Easter, and Pentecost or Whitsuntide. The fundamental notion of the whole Christian life, which, says Neander, referred every thing to the suffering, the resurrection, and the glori- fication of Christ, may, in sorhe degree, fur- nish an explanation of this. We can not think, however, that the primitive Christians, who were so prompt to commemorate the week- ly recurrence of the day on which the Lord arose by a festival, which, analogously observed, entirely supplanted the Sabbath, were indif- ferent to the Birthday of the Lord. Indeed Neander admits that we do find one trace of Christmas as a festival. Its history is inti- mately connected with the history of a kindred festival: the festival of the Manifestation of Jesus in his character of Messiah, his consecra- tion to the office of Messiah by the baptism of John, and the beginning of his public ministry, as the Messiah, which was afterward called the Feast of the Epiphany. We find in later times that these festivals extended themselves in op- posite directionsthat of Christmas spreading from the west to east, and that of the Epiphany from east to ~vest. Mrs. Howitt informs us that the first church- 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. man who makes any mention of Christmas is Theophulus, Bishop of Antioch, who refers to it in a paschal letter written about A.D. 170. A regular observance, however, of the day did not obtain among Christians until the fourth century. Yet the early Church could not have been, and, as we have shown, was not, regard- less of a day so intimately connected with its life. Among the eastern Christians it first received the appellation of the Epiphang, or Manifestation of Light; the true Light hav- ing on that day been born into the world. Aft- erward the latter name was transferred to Twelfth-Night. As soon as Christmas was fully recognized in the Church as one of its leading festivals the celebration of it rapidly spread. The in- fluence of the Church and its own natural claims secured for it the affections of all of every de- gree. It became the gentle and joyeuse day. In the ~north of Europe reminiscences of old ceremonies are still found, and even make part of the customs of the present day; while the Yule-tide legends have lost none of their attractions. Doubtless the Christmas- trees of Germany, now growa too familiar to need description, have been handed down through many generations. The Anglo-Saxons began the year with Christ- mas, or Yule, as they called it, and ushercd in the day by burning on Christmas - eve, or Mother Night, the Yule-log and candles. The log was selected with much care, and a procession having been formed, it was drawn froili its place, generally in some wood, and placed in the capacious chimney, where it was duly burned. At the same time candles, oft- en of great size, were lighted. The whole ceremony was supposed to typify the Mani- festation of Light. There is a primitive char- acter, however, about it which cleariy indi- cates that it is the relic of some Druid rite. Herrick thns refers to the custom in his Hes- perides Come bring with a noise, My merrie, merrie boys, The Christmas leg to the firing; While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free And drink to your hearts desiring. With the last years brand Light the new block, and For good success in his spending On your psalteries play That sweet luck may Come while the log is teending. The advent of Christmas was joyfully hailed by the Waitesbands of persons who paraded the streets at midnight, playing upon instru- ments of music and chanting hymns and car- ols. The practice of singing canticles or carols in the vulgar tongue on Christmas-eve, and thence called nods in France, had its ori- gin, Dr. Barney tells us, about the time that the common people ceased to understand Latin. The word noel is derived from nate- us, and signified originally a cry ofjoy at Christ- mas. There was of course a great variety of these carols, and some of them were singular enough. hi the churches the Angelic ~orus and the Gloria in Excelsis were doubtless always chont- ed. One of the hymns of the Waites, Mr. Howitt says, the modern Methodists have adopted for their early morning service : Christians awake! salute tbe happy morn, Whereon the Saviour of the world was born. A variety of modes of celebrating Christmas may be traced in different parts of England. Some customs, however, seem to have been nearly universal, especially the one of orna- menting the churches and houses with ever- greens and bright berries. Ivy, holly, and laurel were generally employed to adorn the churches, while the mistletoe, having been esteemed sacred by the Druids, was confined, except at York, to the houses. The game in which the mistletoe formed a particular feature was among the most amusing and exciting of the Christmas festivities, and is still invogue in the rural parts of Eugland. We copy the fol- lowing lines from Hone: THE MISTLETOE. Stout emblem of returning peace, The hearts full gush, and loves release; Spirits in human fondness flow, And greet the pearly Mistletoe. Many a maidens cheek is red By lips and laughter thither led; And finitring bosoms cone and go Under the Druid Mistletoe. Dear is the memory of a theft When love and youth and joy are left; The passions blush, the roses glow, Accept the Cupid Mistletoe. Oh! happy, tricksome time of mirth, Givn to the stars of sky and earth! May all the best of feeling know, The custom of the Mistletoe! Spread out the laurel and the bay, For chimney-piece and window gay: Scour the brass geara shining row, And Holly place with Mistletoe. Married and single, proud and free, Yield to the season, irim with glee, Time will not stayhe cheats us, so A ki~s? us gone Ithe Mistletoe. We must not forget to mention the furmenty made of spiced milk and barleythe Yule- gifts, the Yule-cakes, the wassailing, and the mumming, which formed part of the Christmas gambols, and added so much to the general merriment. Some of these ancient customs may still be seen in different parts oP England. In Yorkshire, Staffordshire, Cornwall, and Devon, says Mr. Howitt, the old spirit of Christmas seems to be kept up more earnestly than in most other counties. In Cornwall they still exhibit the old dance of St. George and the Dragon. A young friend of ours happen- ing to be at Calden-Low, in the Staffordshire hills, at Christmas, in came the band of be- dizened actors, and performed the whole an- * Teend, obsolete, to light or to burn. THE HOLIDAYS. cient drama, personating St. George, the King of Egypt, the fair Sabra (the Kings daughter), the Doctor, and other characters, with great energy and in rude verse. In Devon they still bless the orchards of Christmas-eve, according to the old verses: Wassail the trees, that they may beare You many a plum, and many a peare: For more or less fruits they will bring As you do give them wassailing. In some places they walk in procession to the principal orchards in the parish. In each or- chard one tree is selected as the representative of the rest, and is saluted with a certain form of words. They then sprinkle the tree with cider, or dash a bowl of cider against it. In other places only the farmer and his servants assemble on the occasion, and after immersing cakes in cider hang them on the apple-trees. They then sprinkle the trees with cider, pro- nounce their incantation, and then go home to feast. George Wither, who lived in the ~eventeenth century, very pleasantly describes the manner in which Christmas was observed in his time. We give a part of the poem: CHRISTMAS. So now is come our joyfulst feast, Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is drest, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let uo all be merry. Now all our neighbors chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with baked.meat choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie; And if for cold it hap to die, Well buryt in Christmas pie, And evermore be merry. Now every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labor Our lasses have provided them A bagpipe and a tabor. Young men and maids, and girls and boys Give life to one anothers joys; And you anon shall hy their noise Perceive that they are merry Now poor men to the justices With capons make their errants; And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants: But now they feed them with good cheer, And what they want they take in beer; For Christmas comes but once a year, And then they shall be merry The client now his suit forbears, The prisoners heart is eased, The dehtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleased. Though others purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that? hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, And therefore lets be merry Then wherefore, in these merry days, Should we, I pray, be duller? No, let us sing some roundelays, To make our mirth the fuller: And, while we thus inspired sing, Let all the streets with echoes ring Woods and hills and every thing Bear witness we are merry. Sir Walter Scott has also in Marmion given a fine picture of Christmas. The passage is too familiar to most readers to be reproduced here. It begins: And well our Christian sires of old Loved, when the year its course had rolled, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all its hospitable train. Domestic and religious rite Gave honor to the holy night: On Christmas-eve the bells were rung; On Christmas-eve the mass was sung; Th~ only night of all the year Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donned her kirtle sheen; The hail was dressed with holly green; Forth to the wood did merry men go To gather in the mistletoe. Then opened wide the baron~s hall To vassals, tenants, serf, and alL And closes: England was merry England then Old Christmas brought his sports again; Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft would cheer A poor mans heart through half the year. We have already alluded to the chanting of the Waites on Christmas-eve. The carol- ing, however, was not confined to the eve or morn of Christmas, but sometimes lasted for a number of days. In connection with this cus- tom Mr. Howitt recalls to the minds of his readers the quaint old carol, which was sung by bands of little children at Christmas, and which brings fairly before us the paintings of the old masters, where Joseph is always repre- sented as so old a man, and Mary sits in the oxens stall with her crown on her head. Joseph was an old man, and an old man was he, And he married Mary, the Queen of Galilee. It goes on to describe how they went into the garden, and Queen Mary asked Joseph to gather her some cherries, on which he turned very crabbed, made Mary weep, and then all the cherry-trees made their obeisance, And bowed down to Marys knee And she gathered cherries by one, two, and three. These are in the spirit of the legend which re- lates that Jesus, when a boy, was playing with other boys, when they made sparrows of clay, and he made a sparrow too; but his sparrow became instantly alive and flew away. Simple were the times when such rude rhymes as these were framed, to be sung before the doors and by the blazing Yule-logs of gentle and simple. They are not calculated to stand the test of these daysthe schoolmaster will root them all out; but it is to be hoped that he will leave untouched the cordial spirit of piety and affection so fitted to make happy this deso- late period of the year. The pens of Irving and of Dickens have made our readers familiar with the English 167 168 HARPE1~S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Christmas in all its features. They have il- lustrated it from the holly and the mistletoe to the brown October and the hearty cheer. What have they left unsaid, or what have they touched which they have not adorned? To add to their descriptions would be with taper light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish. So fascinating are their accounts of the holiday life of old England that no one can read them without 0celing that a corresponding chord has been touched in his own breast, and wishing that he might share in such glorious scenes of jollity and happiness. It is a feeling to be in- dulged Mirth is the medicine of life, It cures its ills, it calms its strife, It softly smooths the brow of care And writes a thousand graces there. It is a feeling to be cherished; it springs from the genial nature of man, and tells of a com- mon humanitya hnmanity which, though it has been defiled by the trail of the serpent, has yet been redeemed by a common Saviour. Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King, Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled. The American Christmas is a modification of the English. Puritanism long resisted its observance, but a better influence has at last triumphed. The festival is very generally remembered now in this country, writes Miss Cooper, though more as a social than a re- ligious holiday, by all those who are opposed to such observances on principle. In large towns it is almost universally kept. In the villages, however, but few shops are closed, and only one or two of the half-dozen places of worship are opened for service. Still every body rec- ollects that it is Christmas; presents are made in families; the children go from house to house wishing Merry Christmas; and probably few who call themselves Christians allow the day to pass without giving a thought to the sacred event it commemorates as they wish their friends a Merry Christmas. There is only one sport in which the people engage on Christmas which can be called pe- cullarly American. We refer to turkey-shoot- ing; but as that is pursued upon other days it can hardly be regarded as a Christmas sport. We need not describe it. As an amusement it is cruel and unworthy of Christian men. Would that they who indulge in it could read the Hart Leap Well, that they might learn Never to blend their pleasure or their pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. On Christmas-day at least the thought of the poet should find an echo in every heart. Our ancestry, Gouverneur Morris writes, may be traced to four nationsthe Dutch, the British, the French, and the Germans. We are, if I may be allowed to say so, born cosmopolite. Hence, as might be expected, we have inherited varions customs. This is quite apparent on Christmas. Thus the de- scendants of the Mynheers pay due honor to St. Nicholas or Santa Claus; the English adorn their houses with evergreens; the French at- tend mass and chant noels; the Germans deck their Christmas-trees as of old in Vaterland; and all are right merry, for it is Merry Christmas to all. We will not enlarge upon any of the modes in which Christmas is kept in our own country, for they are too well known to need comment. The influence of the Church has made the day familiar; and the sweet sound of the choral song annually announces the return of the Na- tivity to gladden the hearts and charm the ears of thousands. Merry Christmas! exclaims Miss Cooper, Merry Christmas, indeed! Every beautiful festival we hold in religious reverence is con- nected with this greater festival; they all, laden- with graces and blessings, follow in the train of this holy day. Ay, it is the rising of the Sun of Righteousness on Christmas morn, which has ever softened the Jewish Sabbath, and given us, with every successive week, the milder, purer light of the Lords Day. What better joy have we, indeed, from the first to the last hour of every passing year of life, which does not flow from the event we this day bear in fervent, thankful remembrance? Every mercy of the past dates from the advent we joy- fully celebrate to-day. Every hope for the future looks to the same great mystery. Every prayer offered to Heaven becomes an accepta- ble prayer only through faith in the same ineffa- ble Name. Every exalted anticipation of final release from sin and sorrow, of attainment to the unspeakable joys of purity and wisdom, obedience, and peace, is utterly groundless, save as it is connected with the Nativity, hymned this day by the Christian Church Catholic. Apart from the feelings which the sacred re- lations of the festival awaken, and the religious duties which it involves, Christmas is a day pe- culiarly connected with the associations, the pleasures, and the obligations of social and do- mestic life. It is a day when every plant of bitterness, which sin may have sown and self- ishness may have fostered, should be carefully rooted out, that there may be peace on earth and good will among men. It is a day when the peace-makers may realize that they are blessed indeed. It is a day that should be enlivened by the free and hearty interchange of the best feelings of family and friends. ILt is a time to enlarge the heart by a gentle sym- pathy with the sorrowful, and to extend the hand of gratulation to those whom God hath gladdened to weep with them that weep, and to rejoice with them that rejoice. It is a time, too, to remember the poor. Christmas comes to all, but it comes not to all alike. The contrast between reality and what it should be often renders the day one of sadness rather than of mirth. It is true that THE HOLIDAYS. 169 all have an interest in the common joythat all who will can joy in the God of their sal- vation ; yet Christmas seems to call for some- thing moresomething which will satisfy the human want which makes itself imperatively felt on a day in which all the world appears to exclaim Bear witness we are merry Alas! some have no homes to be merry in; some have no relatives to greet them; some have neither homes nor friends; and many are chilled by the cold hand of poverty. But a warm heart, a gentle look, a kind word, and an open hand will do much to alleviate, to cheer even those whose lot has fallen in the shadow. Christmas is a day, therefore, to de- velop, sympathy; a day, by its genial charac- ter, to draw out mans better nature, and to give warmth and coloring to life. Yes, though the wind be cold, the white mantle of winter enshroud the earth, and the gray sky look sad, a right good day is Christmas, merry Christ- mas! Oh speak good of the Lord for this joyous period of the year! Any notice of Christmas would be quite im- perfect without some account of the manner in which the Church celebrates the Birthday of her Lord. The following beautiful descrip- tion is by Bishop Coxe. It would be vain to attempt to add to it: It is a good custom to divide the solemni- ties of this glorious feast, when it can be done conveniently, so as to have Morning Prayer at sunrise; the holy Communion, with sermon, at ten or eleven oclock; and the Evening Prayer at sunset. In treating of the solemni- tics of the day we shall suppose such to be their arrangement. How beautifully breaks the morning sun on the snowy landscape, enlivening the cold air and dispelling the darkness! so shines forth the Sun of Righteousness upon the winter of mans ruined estate, and gives light to his eyes and gladness to his heart. Well may Chris- tians salute each other with congratulations, and by acts of kindness and tenderness to the poor proclaim the universal brotherhood of mankind in Jesus Christ. The proper psalms for the morning illus- trate the spirit of the feast in strains of rapture and adoration, indited by the Spirit, and de- scriptive of the only begotten Son of the Fa- ther. His Gospel goes forth into all lands, and there is nothing hid from the heat there- of. To Him, in the 45th Psalm, the Father addresses the salutation: Thou art fairer than the children of men Gird thee with thy sword upon thy thigh, 0 thou most mighty! Good luck have thou with thine honor Thy seat, 0 God, endureth forever. In this connection, too, the Church is introduced as the bride of Christ, coming before Him in her glo- rious attire, and worshiping him as her Lord God. St. Cyprian regards this Psalm not less as a special prophecy of the Incarnation, but refers it primarily to the eternal generation of VOL. XXXII.No. I 88.M the Son, reading the first verse of it, My hearl; hath generated a blessed Word, and consider- ing it the language of the Father to the Son rather than that of the Psalmist to the Messiah. The first lesson is very short, but perhaps it is the sublimest passage in the Prophets: The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light. What follows, say the critics, should be read as an interrogation, as if it were, IIai~t thou multiplied the nation, and not incr~ased the joy? To which the prophet responds, in view of the union of all nations in exulting over a Redeemers birth: They joy before thee accord- ing to the joy in harvest, and as ~nen rejoice when they divide the spoil. lie then makes a bold lyrical transition to another view of the first Advent, as a battle of the warrior with the powers of darkness: and its terrible results to the Jewish nation are presignified by the warn- ing, This shall be with burning and /hel of fire. The conflagration of the Temple under Titus was the terrible consequence of Jewish unbe- lief in their promised Messiah; and while ex- ulting in the prophecy of Gentile converts the inspired lyrist makes this apostrophe to the. sad reverse of Gentile joy exhibited among his own people. Then follows that magnificent burst of adoration and faith: For unto us a child is born; unto us a Son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and His na~ne shall be called Wonder/id, Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. It is impossible that any thing should be added to this to heighten its effect, except after the Te Deuni, the Lesson from the Gos- pel which narrates the fulfillment of the proph- ecy in strains scarcely less elevated. How simple, yet how sublime, the narrative of the Virgins arrival at Bethlehem; of the pastoral scenes in the neighboring fields; of the great light that shined upon them, and of the message of the Angel! Who can look upon a Christian congregation gathered together, here in dis~an1~ America, on Christmas-day, without feeling-the fidelity of the promise, I bring you good sidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. But the service still culminates; for the Collect, Epistle, and Gospel take up the wor- ship at this point, and carry it on to~ the ele- vated stage of devotion, where the Holy Eu- charist becomes our only sufficient expression of gratitude and praises The 110th Psalm is a majestic introit: -The dew of thy- birth is of the womb of the morning. From- beginning to end it is full of Messiah the Prince, and of the blessings of his Covenant;- and hence it is one of the appointed Psalms for Evening Pray- er. The Collect not only celebrates our Say- iours birth of a pure virgin, but, recognizing the exceeding great love bestowed on us, that we also should be called the sons of God, it supplicates for that daily renewal of grace, by which our sonship may be preserved, and we may be made eternally heirs of God and ~oiiiL heirs with Christ. 170 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The Epistle is not oniy appropriate for its majestic proclamation of the Advent of the Son of God, fulfilling the Law and the Prophets, but also for the sequel to this proclamation, which defines His glory and divinity. Christ is not an angel, but by inheritance far better: lie is the Son of the Fatherand where was this title given to any angel? or when did God say of any created being, Let all the angels of God worship him? Of the angels God saith certain things, defining their character and of- fice; but the Son of God He addresses as God, the copartner of His own throne and sceptre. Yes, continues the Apostle, to the same Jesus is addressed the language which defines Him as alike the Creator and the Judge of the world: Thou, Lord, in the beginning hast laid the foun- dations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of thine hands! Again: As a vesture Thou shalt fold theu~ up, and they shall be changed; but Thou art the same, and Thy years shall not fail. Such, then, is the little Babe whom we have seen wiapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. his name is Lord and God: the stars of heaven are the work of His fingers; and He shall dispose of them at the last. Now follows the Gospel, and the jubilant shout, Glory be to Thee, 0 Lord! may well precede k. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Thus the Evangelist declares his generation before the world was, His creative power, and His Godhead. How is it that the eternal God is born of a woman? The great mystery of the Incarnation is finally asserted in these divine words: The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us; and we beheld Ills glory; the Glory as of the only begotten of the Father, fell of Grace and Truth. Here the Nicene Creed is intro- duced (where Morning Prayer has been said at the early hour), and there is no moment in the worship of the entire year when its lofty strains of confession and worship conic in with equal effect. The Gospel, which immediately pre- cedes it, seems to prolong itself in this creed as in a sublime hymn, in which the Church re- sponsively salutes Christ as what the Gospel proclaims Him, and lays her tribute at His feet. It is important to observe the Preface, which introduces the Trisagion, in the Holy Sacrifice, as of like significance with the creed, and as blending all angels with the Church Catholic in the ascription of this festal homage to the blessed Trinity, in view of the great hu- mility of God the Son. From the Holy Feast that follows who can turn away without shar- ing the emotions of the shepherds of Bethle- hem, who returned praising and blessing God for the things they had seen and heard? At. the Evening Prayer which closes this blessed day the Psalms are again admirably se- lected. In the 89th, the covenant of God with David, and with the greater son of David, is the burden of the Psalmists song of mercy and of judgment. Of the 110th, what has been said of the Introit may sufilce; only let it be noted that in the last verse Christ is ex- hibited in His power and His resurrection as a mighty victor, who lifts up his head, indeed, at the end of the fight, but not without stoop- ing, in the heat of the battle, to drink of the brook in the wayor, in other words, to feel the suffering and to share the nourishment of the poorest of human beings. In the 132d Psalm, Ephratah, it must be remembered, is Bethlehem; and the Anointed is the Messi- ah, or Christ. Viewing Him as the Son of David, born in Bethlehem, the city of David, it will be seen that the whole Psalm is appro- priate to the day, and speaks of the blessings promised to the Church in the oath which was confirmed to the Royal i1~ophet of the fruit of thy body shall I set upon thy seat. The feast of Christmas, adds Bishop Coxe, reigns over the whole time till Twelfth-Night, or the Epiphany. Let the day itself; then, be sacred to the house of God, and to the joys of Home; and let such restrained festivity as is innocent in itself be reserved for other days of this holy tide. Christmas, in the succession of the holidays, is followed immediately by St. Stephens Day on the 26th, St. John the Evangelists Day on the 27th, and the Innocents Day on the 28th of December. Ecclesiastical writers divide the holy com- pany of martyrs into three classes, viz., mar- tyrs in deed, but not in willsuch were the Innocents; martyrs in will, but not in deed such was St. John the Evangelist; martyrs in will and deedsuch was St. Stephen. Thus is exemplified at this season the martyrdom of all that have been slain for the Word of God, and whose souls John beheld under the altar in the prophetic vision of the Fifth Seal. A strange incident for the holidays! But joy and sorrow are nearly connected, and it may serve to moderate an excess of the former. Let outragious ioyousnes be chaunged to holsoc sadnes, says Udal. The name of Stephen, whose memory is cel- ebrated on the 26th, stands first upon the list of the seven persons whom the Apostles ordain- ed deacons to aid them in the labors of the Church. He is described as a man full of faith and of the Holy Ghost ; and he soon gave evidence of it. Besides the works that he did, his speech before the council, as a specimen of terse and rapid generalization, is unrivaled, and for fervor and eloquence has only been equaled by the finest efforts of St. Paul him- self. It can hardly be doubted that the trans- lation of it given by St. Luke was verified by the ~ young man who heard it delivered, and was consenting to his death. All that we know of Stephen is contained in the sixth and seventh chapters of the Acts, and need not be enlarged upon. St. Stephens Day, in old times in England, was called Boxing Daynot for pugilistic rea- sons, but because on that day it was the ens- THE HOLIDAYS. 171 tom for persons in the hembler walks of life to I go the rounds with a box and solicit pecuniary gifts from patrons and employers. Humphrey intimates that the boxes were earthen, and adapted to take in money, but not to let it out until they were broken like a potters vessel into many shares. From this custom sprang the phrase Christmas-box, which is now generally applied to presents of a somewhat similar character made upon Christmas-day. On St. Stephens Day it was the fashion, many years ago, to exhihit a merry disport, or pageant, which perhaps had something to do with the Reformation, in the ball of the Inner Temple. Mr. Hone descrihes it in his Year Book. Reveling appears to have formed an important part of the scene, if we may judge from one of the stanzas chanted by the an- cientest of masters Bring hither the bowle, The brimming brown bowle, And quaff the rich juice right merrilie; Let the wine-cup go round Till the solid ground Shall quake at the noise of our reveirie. Let wasoall and wine Their pleasures combine, While we quaff the rich juice right merrilie; Let us drink till we die, When the saints we relie Will mingle their songs with our reveirie. This savors of the Ahhot of Unreason. We will not detain our readers with further descriptions of the mumming and masking which took place in ~ld times on St. Stephens Daythey were but continuations of the Christ- mas gambolsbut will pass on. St. John the Evangelists Day, the 27th, apart from the Apostle himself and the service of the festival, offers but little that is interesting. In- decd we find only one custom peculiar to it, and that is well described in some verses which Mr. Hone says Barnaby Googe has translated from the Popish Kingdome, a Latin poem, written in 1553, by Naogeorgus. Doubtless the said Naogeorgus was a man of parts; but as to where he lived., or who he was, we are quite as much in the dark as we doubt not our readers are. All that we can say, too, of Bar- nahy is that he was a poet of the sixteenth cen- tury. We give his lines, however: Kexte John, the sonne of Zebedee, hath his appointed day, Who once by cruell tyraunts will consirayned was, they say, Strong poyson up to drinke, therefore the papistes doe beleeve That whoso puts their trust in him no poyson them can greeve. The ~vine beside that halowed is in worship of his name, The priestes doe give the people that bring money for the same. And after, with the selfe same wine, are little manchets made Agaynsi the boystrous winter stormes, and sundry such like trade. The men upon this solemne day do take this holy wine To make them strong, so do the maydes to make them faire and fine. Innocents Day, or Childermas, the 28th.We have related Herods design upon the life of the young Child, and the frustration of his first at- tempt to destroy Him. Exasperated at heing mocked, as he supposed, by the Magi, he im- mediately directed a general massacre of the children at Bethlehem to be made; thus hop- ing to effect his object. The flight, however, of Joseph and Mary with the infant Jesus into Egypt completely foiled him a second time, and secured the Child forever from all attempts of a similar nature. Objections to the narrative of Matthew have been raised hy skeptics. They may be answered best, says Alford, by re- membering the monstrous character of this ty- rant. Herod had marked his way to his throne, and his reign itself, with blood; had murdered his wife (the beautiful Mariamne) and three sons, the last just ahout this time; and was likely enough, in his blind fury, to have made no inquiries, but given the savage order at once. Of the extent of the massacre we arc not informed; hut, as Alford remarks, it is not probahle that a great number of children perished in so small a place as Bethlehem and its neighborhood. It was once the habit in the Roman Church to say masses on Innocents Day for the souls of the victims who perished in Herods massa- cre. Hence the day received the appellation of Childermas. We are indehted to Mr. Hone for the following: It was formerly a custom to whip np the children on Ilinocents - day morning, in order that the memorial of Herods murder of the Innocents might stick the closer, and so, in a moderate proportion, to act over the crueltie again in kinde. The day was deemed itself of especial ill omen; and hence the superstitious never married on Childermas - day. Neither upon this day was it lucky to put on new clothes, or pare the nails, or begin any thing of moment. In the play of Sir John Oldcas- tle the prevalence of this belief is instanced by an obje~ion urged to an expedition proposed on a Friday: Friday, quotha, a dismal day. This vulgar superstition reached the throne; the coronation of King Edward IV. (according to Jenn) was put off till the Monday, because the preceding Sunday was Childermas - day. Lastly, a mother in the Spectator is made to say at that time: No, child, if it please God you shall not go into join-hand on Childermas- day. Something, nevertheless, may be said in fa- vor of the day. The lawyers selected it as a period for relaxation, and the King of the Cockneys received especial honor on Childer- inns-day. In fact it was a holiday to all ex- cept those from whom it derived part of its name. St. Thomas a Becicets Day, the 29th.Becket is only recognized as a saint and martyr by the Church of Rome. The Roman Pontiffs have devoted the 29th not only to him but to some other saints, of whom it is unnecessary to speak. 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. We believe that they canonized so many that they could not furnish each one with a day to himself. St. Sabinuss Day, the 3Oth.This day, like thb former, b~1o~g~ to ~veraI saints, of whom St. Sabin~is is the principal. None, however, is of any importance. We can not find that either of the days last mentioned was marked by any particular usages, or had any thing par- ticular connected with it. We merely mention them because they have a place in the Calendar. New- Years Eve, the 3lst.We would pre- mise that the phrase eve or even, though an abbreviation of the word evening, in its present acceptation applies to the whole day which precedes a festival. Formerly, Chris- tians were in the habit of keeping vigils on the evenings prior to certain festivals, and by extraordinary devotions preparing for the bet- ter celebration of the feast on the following day. The words eve and vigil thus grew to be almost synonymous. New-Years Eve, however, is not a vigil; for none of the festi- vals which occur between Christmas and Can- dlemas, the Feast of the Purification, Febru- ary 2d, is preceded by a vigil; the period being regarded as one of joy and not proper for fast- ing. The same is true of the days which inter- vene between Easter and Whitsuntide. The eves of Christmas and of Easter were always esteemed the most important vigils of the year, and were observed with the greatest strictness by the devotional. The Christmas and Easter seasons were likewise considered periods for especial rejoicing, and were honored accord- ingly. New-Years Eve Yes, the year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared! Death with frosty hand and cold Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorelysorely! Yes, the year is hastening to a close; soon it will be united to those which preceded it, and save by the influence it must exercise upon time to come, it will he known no more. No more? How touching is the expression! It is peculiar to our own language. To what sad thoughts it gives rise; what melancholy feel- ings it awakens! No more! Yes, the year has grown old. Time pursues its stealthy, steady, unfaltering progress; soon, too, we will grow old like the year. Jamieson supposes the name, says Mrs. Howitt, to be derived from the carols sung on this day. The last stanza of one of those chanted on Christmas would seem to be appropriate to Singing Een. It forms part of the collection presented to Mrs. Howitt by Mrs. Fletcher: God bless the master of tlsis house And mistress also; And all the little children That round tlse table go With their pockets full of money, And their cellars full of beer; And God send you a Happy New Year. Again: God bless the master of this house, Mistress and children dear; Joyful may their Christmas be, An~ 1~y theIr I~ew Year. To this day also belongs, adds Mrs. How- itt, the Hogmanay, orHogmena, which has been supposed, and not without some appearance of reason, to be a corruption of a Druid rite, while the word itself would seem to have come to us from Normandy. Gue, or Guy, is the Celtic name for oak; and Keysler tells us that on the 31st of December the boys and youths go about the towns and villages begging for gifts, while, by way of wishing a happyNewYear, they say Au Guy LAn Neuf To the Mistletoe, the New-Years come; by which word they desig- nate not only the season but the gift received. In Scotland the custom prevailed until very lately, if indeed it has ever ceased entirely to exist, of distributing sweet cakes and a partic- ular kind of sugared bread for several days be- fore and after the new year; and on the last night of the old year, especially called hog- menai, the social meetings made a point of re- maining together till the clock struck twelve, wlsen they all rose up, kissed each otlser, and wished a happy New Year around. Children and others went about for several nights from house to house in guisarts, or goisards, that is to say, in ulasquerade disguises, singing at the same time: Rise up, good wife, and b~e no swier To deale your bread as longs youre Isere; TIme time will come when youll be dead, And neither want nor meal nor bread. What can he said of a year? Of what one shall we speak? Each year differs from every other; and to every person each year presents quite a diffeient aspect. The thoughts natu- rally dwell most upon that which is passing away. Let those to whom it has been illu- mined by the favoring smiles of a kind Heaven rejoice and be thankful; and let those to whom it has been sad and weary take heart of grace, and be strong in hope for the future. Edwin Lees Christmas and New Year concludes thus: The clock strikes twelve, and the Old Year dies. Days raise isis body on a bier, and maidens sing the follow- ing Dirge: Bring the last December rose, Frosted oer withs wintry snows; Let the fsding petals fall Oer the Years funereal pall. Frons the wood some oak leaves bring That were green in early spring; Scatter them about time bier Of the now departing Year. Let the bells upon their wheels, While our fond ideas veer, Ring the solemn nsidnight peals, Lingring for the dying Year. Hark! the peal has ceased to roll; Silence reigns; but now a toll Breaks upon the startled ear-- Gone forever is tIme Year! AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 173 AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. IN EIGHT SECTIONS. I 1.CHOLOOKE. MR. FITZ PATRICK, a friend of mine in I the south of Ireland, had invited me, then in London, to spend the month of July with him; and much as I dislike exposing a favorite horse to the risks of sea-travel, I took Cholook~ with me. I have always had a jealousy of grooms. To abandon a valuable animal to their influence and care is a kindred fault to that, even oftener seen, of substituting the nurse for the mother. Looked at merely as property, no kind of it thrives better than the horse for the constant use of the masters eye. Regarded in the light of a friendas I considered Cholookithe horse is not only happier for the attention of his mas- ter, but confers a happiness on him by his grati- tude shown in affectionate manners and re- doubled service, which no indolent horseman need ever expect to experience. I have never felt easy unless I visited my horse at least once a day. This has been particularly the case since Cholookd saved my life for the sixth time, al- though ~vhen I took steamer from Liverpool he had only obliged me to that extent five times; vet I could not persuade myself to leave him in the London stables. I had indeed gone so far as to send my luggage to the train for Liver- pool before I made up my mind to take him across the Channel. I had half an Jrnur for lunch and loungingpicked up Charley OMalley to amuse me between stout and sand~vichgot strack with a fit of horse-enthusiasmthought how prond I should be of Cholook~ in Levers countrysaw a groom in the strpet whipping some other mans favorite horse unmercifully and jumping into a cab reached the station in time to detain the train. When I did set out Cholook6 was with me. And with me, not much the worse for wear, he landed in Ireland. That change of mind was for me the luckiest turn of fortunes wheel. How Cholook6 saved my life for the sixth time, together with his own, his masters, and, what is still more, his countrys reputation, it is my intention herein to relate. Cholooki is a strange name for a horseI dont deny it. He was siamed after the loftiest waterfall in the known worldthe greatest of the Great Yo-Semite falls, in California. There was a manifest propriety in thus naming him, since his earliest christenings ~vere in the spray flung by that fierce priest of Nature, old Cho- look~, who ~vas baptizer, font, and sponsor all in one. Then, too, the namesakes resembled each other in temperament. My horse had his spurts and plunges like Cholook~. Neither of them would satisfy people who like mill-dams. I never liked them. If any enterprising spec- ulator in the picturesque should go about Ne~v York contracting to introduce a ~vaterfall, On reasonable terms, into every bodys back-yard, he should not put one in mine. I would not have a waterfall that could go into a back-yard. For the same reason I would not, at any figure, buy that animated spring-board known popular- ly as the kind family horse. Niagara would please me no better were its roar warranted not to disturb the most delicate invalid. I would not comb Ben Lomond; nor would I t~vice look at a horse who had not enough spirit in him to behave as savagely as Cholook~ did under the circumstances surrounding my first introduction to him. Our meeting occurred at a San Francisco sales-stable, ~vhere I had gone to buy horses for a party consisting of myself and several other gentlemen about setting out for a tour of ex- ploration in the Sierra. I had selected for the examination of my friends the animals which I thought particular- ly to the taste of each, when I found I had left. but scanty choice for myself. I was looking discontentedly at an amiable, large-legged pie- bald, who, to believe his proprietor, had all the wisdom of Balaams ass, and, to believe his ears, might have possessed the same pedigree. I had just made up my mind to look elsewhere, when a bright blood-bay of sixteen hands rushed up the front ramp, and nearly through the stable, out of the back-door again. Oh! heres one you havent seen, said the proprietor, getting out of his ~vay with all dis- patch. Humph ! insubordinately growled the groom. Who wants that divil ? I fixed my eyes on the subject of the conver- sation. He was frothing at the mouth like a case of demoniacal possession. He had torn the girth of a trotting-harness from his back, and every now and then snapped at the remain- der viciously as a wild-cat, meanwhile uttering sounds unlike any previous horse uttterance I ever heard, and, in my mind, comparable only to the panting way in which men abuse each other in the breathless stage of a rough-and- tumble fightn sort of 0-0-0! terminating in a gasp of concentrated spite. It was only to be wondered that he had not smashed the thills and skeleton of the buggy which some unrea- soning person had ventured to strap to his in- dignant sides. He was a born saddle-horse. That was as plain as day. He knew it as well as I did; and when he saw me looking at him he stopped biting at his harness, and regarded me from his blood-shot, bulged-out eyes for several seconds, with an expression like the query: Stranger! can you understand why I re- bel? I answered the question by walking up to him and patting his neck. The groom direful- ly muttered, Yed better lave that alone but Cholooki did not seem to be of his opinion. He nipped at me once, but seeing that I did not start he paused, reflected, and then pnt his head around gently in play. I felt my way down his

Fitz Hugh Ludlow Ludlow, Fitz Hugh An International Affair 173-186

AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 173 AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. IN EIGHT SECTIONS. I 1.CHOLOOKE. MR. FITZ PATRICK, a friend of mine in I the south of Ireland, had invited me, then in London, to spend the month of July with him; and much as I dislike exposing a favorite horse to the risks of sea-travel, I took Cholook~ with me. I have always had a jealousy of grooms. To abandon a valuable animal to their influence and care is a kindred fault to that, even oftener seen, of substituting the nurse for the mother. Looked at merely as property, no kind of it thrives better than the horse for the constant use of the masters eye. Regarded in the light of a friendas I considered Cholookithe horse is not only happier for the attention of his mas- ter, but confers a happiness on him by his grati- tude shown in affectionate manners and re- doubled service, which no indolent horseman need ever expect to experience. I have never felt easy unless I visited my horse at least once a day. This has been particularly the case since Cholookd saved my life for the sixth time, al- though ~vhen I took steamer from Liverpool he had only obliged me to that extent five times; vet I could not persuade myself to leave him in the London stables. I had indeed gone so far as to send my luggage to the train for Liver- pool before I made up my mind to take him across the Channel. I had half an Jrnur for lunch and loungingpicked up Charley OMalley to amuse me between stout and sand~vichgot strack with a fit of horse-enthusiasmthought how prond I should be of Cholook~ in Levers countrysaw a groom in the strpet whipping some other mans favorite horse unmercifully and jumping into a cab reached the station in time to detain the train. When I did set out Cholook6 was with me. And with me, not much the worse for wear, he landed in Ireland. That change of mind was for me the luckiest turn of fortunes wheel. How Cholook6 saved my life for the sixth time, together with his own, his masters, and, what is still more, his countrys reputation, it is my intention herein to relate. Cholooki is a strange name for a horseI dont deny it. He was siamed after the loftiest waterfall in the known worldthe greatest of the Great Yo-Semite falls, in California. There was a manifest propriety in thus naming him, since his earliest christenings ~vere in the spray flung by that fierce priest of Nature, old Cho- look~, who ~vas baptizer, font, and sponsor all in one. Then, too, the namesakes resembled each other in temperament. My horse had his spurts and plunges like Cholook~. Neither of them would satisfy people who like mill-dams. I never liked them. If any enterprising spec- ulator in the picturesque should go about Ne~v York contracting to introduce a ~vaterfall, On reasonable terms, into every bodys back-yard, he should not put one in mine. I would not have a waterfall that could go into a back-yard. For the same reason I would not, at any figure, buy that animated spring-board known popular- ly as the kind family horse. Niagara would please me no better were its roar warranted not to disturb the most delicate invalid. I would not comb Ben Lomond; nor would I t~vice look at a horse who had not enough spirit in him to behave as savagely as Cholook~ did under the circumstances surrounding my first introduction to him. Our meeting occurred at a San Francisco sales-stable, ~vhere I had gone to buy horses for a party consisting of myself and several other gentlemen about setting out for a tour of ex- ploration in the Sierra. I had selected for the examination of my friends the animals which I thought particular- ly to the taste of each, when I found I had left. but scanty choice for myself. I was looking discontentedly at an amiable, large-legged pie- bald, who, to believe his proprietor, had all the wisdom of Balaams ass, and, to believe his ears, might have possessed the same pedigree. I had just made up my mind to look elsewhere, when a bright blood-bay of sixteen hands rushed up the front ramp, and nearly through the stable, out of the back-door again. Oh! heres one you havent seen, said the proprietor, getting out of his ~vay with all dis- patch. Humph ! insubordinately growled the groom. Who wants that divil ? I fixed my eyes on the subject of the conver- sation. He was frothing at the mouth like a case of demoniacal possession. He had torn the girth of a trotting-harness from his back, and every now and then snapped at the remain- der viciously as a wild-cat, meanwhile uttering sounds unlike any previous horse uttterance I ever heard, and, in my mind, comparable only to the panting way in which men abuse each other in the breathless stage of a rough-and- tumble fightn sort of 0-0-0! terminating in a gasp of concentrated spite. It was only to be wondered that he had not smashed the thills and skeleton of the buggy which some unrea- soning person had ventured to strap to his in- dignant sides. He was a born saddle-horse. That was as plain as day. He knew it as well as I did; and when he saw me looking at him he stopped biting at his harness, and regarded me from his blood-shot, bulged-out eyes for several seconds, with an expression like the query: Stranger! can you understand why I re- bel? I answered the question by walking up to him and patting his neck. The groom direful- ly muttered, Yed better lave that alone but Cholooki did not seem to be of his opinion. He nipped at me once, but seeing that I did not start he paused, reflected, and then pnt his head around gently in play. I felt my way down his 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cheeks and nose, talking to him in that low petting voice to which a horse is as susceptible as a woman. Before long he was permitting me to examine his mouth and his feet, as if I bad been the family farrier for generations up his pedigree. My examination resulted in the knowledge that he was sound of wind and limb; in age rising six; well put together; capable of being trained both to speed and to endurance; a good eater and of healthy habit, as indicated by a skin the most beautiful I ever saw over horse- fleshsoft and pliant as a womans, with silky hair of that lustrous bay shade which is irides- cent in the sun. As I afterward found, not even a months picketing out could make it lie roughly. The frank confession of both proprietor and groom finally informed me that, as a drawback to the above excellences, Cholook~ (then called Scarem-much, as a stable-yard corruption of the name Scarasnouche, under which a terri- fied lady-owner had sold him) was an animal of most uncertain and unfortunate temper, and gifted with all the vices under the sun. ii saw, moreover, for myself that he was perceptibly ewe-necked; but experience had taught me that, however much of a defect this trait may be in point of looks, it is any thing else but that as regards speed and endurance. In fact, it would be hard to quote from the calendars of the turf any first-class animals which curbed to a degree entitling him to a position among fashionable parade horses. All pasturing animals are apt to acquire the ewe-neck, and few peculiarities sooner hecome permanent. As to Cholooksis moral defects I reasoned in this ~vise: Here is a misunderstood intellect. I can not suppose that all the fury I have wit- nessed could be aroused by the mere heat and worry of a light trotting-harness. There is some common-sense in a horse. He has ad- equate motives if one can but find them. He is enraged because he is entirely mismanaged. And he has the very shape for a saddle Hereas the physical strayed into the moral fieldI asked the proprietor if ho had ever tried him under saddle. The groom grinned, and answered for his superior that the last time a gentleman tried that the beast threw him and broke his arm. I asked if the sufferer had been using a Mex- ican bit. The man said, Yes, and I replied that I had supposed so. The conference ended in my saddling him myself, bridling him with a plain snaffle, and riding away upon him, aft- er the payment of seventy dollars in gold of the realm. But for his reputation I certainly could not have hought him under $600. My acquisition, like most of those desperate characters which philanthropy undertakes to ed- ucate up to the normal standard, was no case for sudden conversion, and gave me a tussle be- fore he consented to reform. lie was full of bloodthree-quarters Morgan, and the rest be- longing to a tribe of Mustan0s famous for speed and endurance. He had the spirit and the ob- stinacy of both his sources. He liked me from the outset, hut he was by no means disposed to accept me as his master until I had proved my- self so. I felt all the fonder of him for thata fondness growing out of respectand set about presenting him the evidence necessary to com- plete conviction. During the ten days which were to elapse be- fore my party started for the Sierra I daily took Cholook~ out for drill. In a very short time I found that he wanted nothing for wind and con- dition but a wise daily increase of exercise, his well-known ferocity having given him little to do but eat and drink during his stay at the sales- stable. He was presently able to make the dis- tance between Point Lobas and the stables eight milesin twenty-six minutes. For a green horse I thought this satisfactory, espe- cially as he only broke twice in the entire dis- tance. Regarding his spiritual state there still re- mained much ground for concern. On consult- ing my diary of that period I find 1. Cholook6 backedThe thing itself is dread- ful enough without permitting ideal minds to make it worse than it is by pondering upon the mystery of the still more fearful word. I hast- en, then, to define bucking as a violent per- pendicular leaping to the height of several feet, the animal landing perfectly stiff-legged, with an effect jarring to the nerves of the most rugged constitution, and producing in the most her- metically sealed countenance what refined doc- tors nowadays call nasal hemorrhagia. For this vice one good prescription is to let the horse buck himself out. To accomplish this with ease to the rider every frontiersmans spur has a little iron bell dangling from the rowel. This, which in peaceful times jingles for cheerfulness, in times of tempest (i.e., buck- ing) is, by an adroit movement of the foot, thrown between the rays of the iron star. This brings the spur to a dead-lock. One of its points is thrust on each side of the horse into the hair-cloth meshes of the cincle (Californian for girth), and by this firm elastic foothold, with his feet entirely out of the stirrups, the horse- man raises himself just sufficiently to avoid the shock as his animal strikes the ground. By this process a patient man can tire out the worst horse that ever bucked. In my diary I find here: MEM.A good method to show the antagonist that you can stand it as tong as he canWhen your horse has tired of hacking, you quietly let yourself down on his saddle; allow him a little while to recover his hreath, feel you tranquilly on his hack, and realize that he has accomplished nothing but his own unnecessary exhaus- tion, and that perhaps this new man may be his sassier after all. If, then, you proceed to breathe him for a mile or two, a little over the usoal pace, it will do him no harm. Its effect will be to expend much of the extra nervous irri- tation remaining from his fit of sulks, and will show him at once that you have only waited for him to return to reason that you might resume your own predetermined way. But the grand constitutional remedy for Cho AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 175 look& s bucking (and how many sprigs and bios- conceived resolution to ascend to the porch and soms of evil fall off when that is applied at the enter the front-door. If we were far enough in roots!) I found to be making him love me. If the country to encounter ranche or barn-yard he did that, he would like to have me on his gates I invariably had a fight with him before I back, and, of his own accord, would stop buck- could persuade him to pass them. He was as ing as a proceeding imperfcctly calculated to obstinate upon the right of visit as an English keep me there. To my surprise (for it is usu- Admiralty Lord, and took as long to be con- ally one of the most obstinate of vices) this vinced that his freak conld not be indulged. bucking ceased to trouble me sooner than any Firmness beyond his own, exerted with steady defect in his character. gentleness, was the remedy which proved finally And that I might still see by what uncertain successful; but at first I lived in constant nfl- tenure I held his aristocratic favor he indulged certainty as to the exact line where society ceased In an eccentricity none the less painful, because, to tolerate horse-training on the pnhlic highway; so far as I can learn, it was purely original with where misfortune shaded into a legal offense; himself and where my tribulations with Cholook~ might 2. This consists of a sudden blow delivered amount to a cause for the action Quare clau- backward with the hardest part of the skull. It sum fregit. is not difficult to imagine that a horses brain- 5. I will not further peach upon him to case coming without the slightest premonition, the public than to mention that he sometimes with the velocity of a prize-fighters fist against balked, and on such occasions ~vas a Gibraltar in a riders thorax, is a dose which may unfit the horse-flesh. More properly I should call him strongest pair of lungs for their normal use for a Tarpeian Rock, because many an unhappy at least five minutes. wretch had been thrown from his precipitous Regarding this vice too murderous to dally front when the notion of stopping short in a with I undertook to cure it immediately. It three-minute dash suddenly occurred to him. was the only mean, treacherous fault which I sickened him of this terrific pleasantry by Cholook~ had; all the more reason, then, why I bringing his nose around close against my left should at once give him my opinion of it. The knee, and keeping him in that position with my third time that he exhibited it I had been an hand held lo~v, while I spurred him upon the hour watching for him, and was ready. As his right flank so mercilessly that if I had worn any head came up my fist went down. They met thing but the blunt Mexican apparatus the blood just back of his ears along the crease. He would have streamed from my rowels. After reeled and staggered like a drunkard. A little turning him like a peg-top as long as I could child could have led him away. I looked to see stand it I again gave him his head. For the him fall, and cleared my feet of the stirrups, first minute that receptacle of mischief was not but he presently recovered himself, ~vent forward of much use to him. While he was still thor- at a brisk rate sneezing, and never more at- oughly bewildered, and feeling wildly with his tempted the trip-hammer trick on me. feet to keep himself from falling, I launched him 3. Cholook~ bit.I cured this vice by getting forward at the top of his speed, halting him only his mouth healthy, partly by a wash, of which when he was out of breath. This is not the myrrh and alum were the chief ingredients, and, way to deal with most balky horses. In harness still more, by the use of a rational bit. I never a horse usually balks because his load is too approached him without holding out some little heavy, or because inconsistent orders and gun- tid-bit that associated ifty gestures toward his eral ignorant management have perplexed him. mouth with pleasurable impressions; and final- But Cholook~ had no such excuses. His balk- ly he permitt3d examination of it with as much ing with me was the purest perversity, though confidence as a baby shows in letting you feel mismanegement had doubtless originated the its gun~s. Though his skin was so sensitive vice with him. that he was constantly compelled to nip at in- I shall have been followed thus far by horse- sects, he never showed his teeth at a human men. If any other readers have accompanied acquaintance after the first six weeks of his them I will make the rest of the way as interest- service with me. ing, in other technical respects, as I know bow. 4. An insane propensity to break into the After I had reformed Cholook~ I found, just premises of private citizens.In the outskirts as I had expected, that I had a horse in every of San Francisco Cholook~ was a terror to the respect superior to the six-hundred-dollar ani- inhabitants of shanties. He despised their hum- mal who had never needed reformation, or whose ble inclosures, and undertook on every favorable character had been formed by some other hand occasion to flank their rails or tear down their than his rider and previous to his purchase. pickets. lie was fond of old straw-hats, and No dog ever possessed more attachment to his did not scruple to take them from the heads of master, or a higher degree of intelligence. Cho- children belenging to suburban foreign parents. look~ was fast; I trotted him in three minutes Within- the city limits he behaved like Attila. without the spur. He ~vas versatile; breaking Civilization had no boundaries for him. I have into the gallop at word of command; falling kno~vn him stop at a flight of freestone steps, into the pace by a mere touch on the shoulder; and fill with dismay a refined family looking out leaping any obstruction over which one could of the parlor windows by a suddenly yet sternly take a first-class English hunter; dancing in 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. excellent time to music, or even to drum-tap. He was so obedient that he would fight rather than leave the place to which I had assigned him without rein-strap or hitch of any kind; and his endurance was proportional to his other virtues. As the crowning excellence of all he had nouswas the animal for an emergency, and not only kne~v how to shift for himself, but on occasion for his rider also. Having abundance of time I sent on my lug- gage by the common conveyance, and, on the back of Cholook~, pursued my own journey from the coast to my friends estate. I 2.THREE NATIONALITIES. It was seven oclock of an early July evening when I trotted up the fine old avenue of elms and European lindens leading from the porters lodge to NestledowaMr. Fitz Patricks hospi- table country house. During the afternoon I had been compelled to turn in to a road-side shebeen by one of those almost daily summer showers ~vhich preserve to this beautiful island its Emerald reputation, and now every refreshed leaf of boughs above or blade of grass beneath was tipped with its pendent orb of crystal turn- ing to ruby, amethyst, sapphire, and carbuncle in the slant flame of the setting suu. The house, as I saw the moment I passed the lodge, occupied a commanding position on the edge of what we in America should call a bluff. This natural formation was artificially terraced down each flank toward the north and south, but left in its original shape on the eastern slope where the house fronted. This slope was luxuriantly sodded to its foot, where it met the lawn proper. Through this lawn wound the avenue, graveled hard as a pavement, and reaching the base of the southern terraces, ascended in a roundabout but picturesque series of lines to a broad and lofty carriage arch in front of the porch, built of creamy tufa, sup- ported by corbeled pillars, and bearing the Fitz I~atrick arms carved on the keystones. I was met by my host with a hearty Irish welcome, half-way between the lodge and the terraces. He was mounted on a brisk little Gal- loway, and accompanied me directly to his sta- bles, where I saw Cholook~ put up for the night. This attended to he led me to the house by a shrubby foot-path, showed me my room and asked me to excuse further ceremony till the bell rang for dinner, as his family had just come in from a day at the Assize races, and were dressing, as I much needed to do myself. My baggage having reached Nestledown before me, I was able to acquit myself of a very satisfactory toilet; and being a young man at that time, put on my prettiest white tie as well as my most winning manners. Upon whom my impression was to be made I had no idea; Mr. Fitz Patricks eldest child being a son then at Trinity College; his wife dead a number of years previously; and the pet daughter of whom I had often heard him speak, invariably mentioned as my little girl or the baby. To my surprise I discovered on descending to the great west parlor a charming young lady of eighteen, with dreamy brown eyes and riante mouth; golden hair (most beautiful of all con- trasts for dark eyes); a figure developed by horsewomanship and other outdoor exercise into the very perfection of womanhood; a delicate little hand that looked like rose-leaves, and when she gave it to me with innocent confi- dence in indorsement of her fathers welcome, felt like rose-leaves too. Her voice was an in- strument of many keysall of them so sweet that I could not decide which I liked best. Just as I made up my mind in favor of the liquid undertone which took me home to American sunsets and the vesper gurgle of our wood-robin, Daisy laughed a silvery little laugh like a June waterfall, and again I was undecided. I might have considered the question with more equanimity had I not discovered, even be- fore we went in to dinner, that another person ~vas interested in its solution equally with my- self. That person was an insufferable Englishman! Algernon Maurice Sidney Trevannion was captain of a company in Her Majestys Guards. He ~vas introduced to me by that name and title; Iwas presented to him as plain Mr. Von Haar- 1cm, the American traveler, hunter, and horse- man. Mr. Fitz Patrick, though the farthest in the world removed from snobbery, could not help the feeling common to every man under British rule that I needed a little pedigree to put me right before the Captain, and that as a mere private citizen I should have but little picking on my bones for a dainty young aristo- crat, none of whose London acquaintances had less names, blood, or titles than himself. Ac- cordingly, in introducing me lie added, by way of appendix, that I belonged to a very old New York family. The Captain cast upon me one of those supe- rior smiles which make their recipient forever the enemy of the donor. As Mr. Fitz Patrick and I turned away from the bow-window in which Miss Fitz Patrick and the Captain were standing I heard that mellow English voice say to the beautiful Daisy: Aw really! Quite a delightfnl paradox! Then they do have old families in New York? How long does it take to make them? Pray when was Ne~v York founded? George Third somewhere about that time, if I recollect. I say! how jolly it must be for an ancient histo- rian in that countryso close to his facts, you know. Mr. Fitz Patrick and I were crossing the parlor to a table strewn in elegant carelessness with bog- oak ornaments of every description, carved by a tenant of his, in whose genius (like most Irish landlords at this day, unless their veins are tainted with absenteeisni) he took a just pride. I knew that the veriest snob in the United King- dom would scarcely have ventured on such pleas- antry as the Captains with a gentleman to whom lie had just been introduced. I therefore cx- AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 177 cused his language on the ground that he did not mean to have it reach my ears. Throwing a quick glance over my shoulder I perceived that Miss Fitz Patrick did not even smile at the wit of Mr. Trevannion. Woe to him if she had smiled! Since she had not, I put him down in my mind for a conditional amnesty. I felt still more like forgiving him when the footman announced dinner, and in virtue of my being the latest guest I was assigned the pleas- urable service of handing Miss Fitz Patrick in to the table. We formed a partie carree at the first homelike dinner I had enjoyed since I left my own bachelor m~inage in New York. The father and daughter sat vis-h-vis. The Captain sat on the fathers right, I on the daughters. The superior smile was in point-blank range with my soup, which it cooled, and my salmon, which it made watery; it dried the juice out of my slice of sirloin and flattened my Champagne. Father hoped to see you here last evening, Mr. Von Haarlem, said Miss Fitz Patrick. And I should have been here then if I had not come from the harbor on horseback. You have missed something which I should have been much pleased to have you seethe county racessaid Mr. Fitz Patrick. Some- thing he would have liked to see; eb, Trevan- nion? Awyesthat is nwI supposeI should say awquite a novelty to an American gentle- manwhen he got acquainted with it, you know we do those things so differently to our friends on the other side. (Superior smile again.) Yes; I believe as a general thing we do make a little better time than you do. But I can see a great improvement in you since we sent over Rarey and Ten Broeck. Pon me honor! I say, Mr. Fitz Patrick, Mr. Von ilnarlem seems to regard us as a mis- sionary field Yes, so I observe. He looks at you with one Tattersalls eye and another from Exeter Hall. Aw! You, did you say? Why not us Because Im an Irishman, I suppose, and being open to any valuable knowledge that pre- sents itself; dont need evangelization quite as much as you across the Channel. Besides, added my host with a twinkle in his eye, was there ever an Irishman who didnt know every thing about horses already? Stop the veriest bog- trotter any where on our tight little island, and a hundred to one hell tell you that he was brought up with them from the time I was the height of a bees knee. Isnt that your expe- rience, Von Hanriem? Yes, among Irishmen in America. That is one reason why I feel it a disappointment not to have been here at the races. I should like to see the horsemanship on which they pride themselves so much. Ever attended the Derby, Mr. Von Haar- 1cm? asked the Captain, in a charitable tone, as if he pitied the mortification he was com- pelled to cause an American by referring to that subject. I was present at the last races, Sir. The Boston yes, the German so, and the aw of Young England, mean unspeakable things. The Captains aw meant my entire extinction. The mere mention of the Darby was my final rebuke, and I saw beneath the exterior puppy- ism of the Englishman the true generosity of the man. He would not crow over me; the Darby had been recalled to my mind, my American pretensions were floored, and he would not strike them after they were down. But he evidently expected me to say something. When he saw me silent he cast a puzzled glance at me and continued: Very well, Sir; what, aw, was your im- pression, a~v I saw many beautiful animals, some which under the training of my countryman, Hiram Woodruff might be made an honor to any Amer- ican race-course. Bless my soul I exclaimed the Captain, looking piteously to Mr. Fitz Patrick. Why, this is prodigious ! My host laughed, and Miss Fitz Patrick smiled in spite of herself. In fairness I should have told you, said the former, addressin~, Captain Trevannion, that my friend here is no mere theorist in horse mat- ters, but a most obstinate and experienced oppo- nent. By-the-way, Von Haarlem, that horse of yours has a splendid head. I never saw cleaner lines nor a more spirited eye. Where did you get him? Theres evident blood in him, though for the life of me I couldnt tell where it comes from. Ill tell you, then. His father was a full Morgan, his mother half Morgan and half Mus- tang. In the English sense neither of these races is blood. The Mustang is a reclaimed animal, belonging for the last hundred and fifty years to the wild herds of the American plains. His remote ancestors were two stallions and four mares turned loose on the Pampas by early Span- ish adventurers. Whence were descended the half-dozen animals which colonized the New World of course nobody can say, though they probably had some Arab or rather Moresco stock in them. Isnt that blood? asked Miss Daisy. My pet horse is an Arabian, and if any horse was ever blooded he is. She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm that if her pet had been a Suffolk punch I believe I should have risked my reputation by saying Yes, even before the man of the superior smile. Yes, it was blood once; but the twelve or fif- teen generations of savagery which have elapsed since the first stock were turned loose on the plains have obliterated nearly all the external characteristics of whatever Arab blood the Mus- tangs possess. Their great speed and power of endurance may perhaps be relied on to prove the pedigree; they also resemble the Arabian ,in size, being considerably smaller than the En- 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gush thorough-bred. So much for the Mustang half of my pets mother. The rest of her and the whole of Cholook~s sirethe Morgan blood, though not as far from its European source as the Mustang, is still sufficiently remote to have allowed time for acclimation and other modify- ing influences to produce an entirely distinct variety. The original Morgan horse was born in 1793, in Springfield, Massachusetts, and at the age of two years was taken to Vermont, where indeed most people supposed him to have originated, multitudes of excellent horses there claiming descent from him. Where is Vermont ? asked Miss Daisy. Its the capital of the State of Charleston, said Captain Trevannion. If I remember right- ly its not very far from New Orleans. His nearest relations with European stock are de~ived through his paternal grandfather, imported Traveler. Among his foreign an- cestors are included English Eclipse, Childers, and the Godolphin Arabian. Aw I said the Captain, then its easy enough to see where his blood comes from. Excuse me, Captain Trevannion, but you are not ignorant that the mother is of vital im- portance in the formation of race-characteristics. The mother of the original Morgan was three generations off from the nearest British thor- ough-bred, and is described by her cont~mpora- ries as unusually heavy-chested, with long shag- gy hair upon her legs, almost like a Shelty; of medium size, and of a color approaching the sorrel. An animal less like the typical English thorough-bred in external respects can scarcely be imabined. There has been an unsuccessful attempt to derive her pedigree on both sides from the same Wild-air blood to which it is be- lieved she may trace her sire. At the best her oribin is very uncertain; only less so than that of the greatest trotter which ever livedFlora Tenpie. So you see that the famous Morgan was an equine Rodoiph of Hapsburghthe found- er of his own family. Though Flora is the most remarkable instance of a first-class (indeed the first-class) race-horse, she is not the only one.~ How about your Lady Suffolk ? asked Mr. Fitz Patrick. She comes from a strain entirely unknown beyond her sire Engineer. Dutchman~ is even obscurer in his pedigree, and on our side of the water there are numerous celebrated ani- mals besides, who in their veins have not one well-authenticated drop of any fluid which Cap- taiii Trevannion would call blood. In the mat- ter of all pure trotting horses, I indorse, without the least hesitation, Mr. Wheelans assertion, that he knows in the city of New York above a score of roadsters in common use, which could successfully enter the lists against the fastest trotters on the English turf. So, Mr. Fitz Pat- rick, your discovery that my horse had blood in him is a great compliment to your intuition, since there is nothing in hini which Captain Trevauniun would consider such, or which would be so regarded at Tattersalls. By this time the Captain had recovered from the stupor of amazement into which he had been plunged by my stolid refusal to be crushed out by the Darby. Oh, Mr. Von Haarlem ! said he, returning to the charge. I say! What, aw, did you see, aw, to dissatisfy you in the Darby ? Nothing, Captain Trevannion; for, as your Dissenters say, English horsemen live up to their light: and I believe that in process of time they will abandon their false conservatism and their bad school in riding heartily to adopt a better style. Captain Trevannion had asked my objections to the En,lish school of horsemanship very much as he would inquire the reason why I wished to change the British form of government, burn down St. Pauls, or substitute Methodism for the Established Church. That any institution of the country in whose service he wore epaulets could be changed for the better struck him very much as I should have been affected by a pro- posal to dig up Bunker Hill Monument and re- set it point downward. Feeling that the conversation was becoming too argumentative for a dinner-table, we dropped the issue by mutual consent, the Captain and myself having promised each other to compare horses at the stable on the following day. 3.TIlE AFFAIR PROPOSED. A fine drizzle set in during the night and lasted for the next twenty-four hours, spoiling all our calculations. Mr. Fitz Patrick was obliged to pass the day in his library, auditing the accounts of his model estate with Donohue the steward. The Captain and I were accord- ingly turned over for entertainment to Miss Fits Patrick. The manner in which she acquitted herself of her burdensome trust greatly enhanced my admiration for her. If I was one-tenth as heavy a load as the Captain, Miss Fits Patrick deserved a crown of martyrdom. I had often read with wonder passages in English novels de- scribing the ennui of a party of gentlemen weath- er-bound among the ladies at a country seat; how they yawned and dawdled; how they wan- dered from the grate to the window, from the sofa to the piano; now listlessly reading a new story; now sketching a little; now cleaning their guns; now picking the bones of the poor old Times down to its very advertisements. Though the domestic novelists of Great Britain are al- most unanimous in their testimony upon this point, I used to leave a large margin for exag- geration on the ground that almost all writers feel authorized to set their own country in ridic- ulous lights which they would exclaim against as the most shameful injustice were the bur- lesque perpetrated by a foreigner. I could not believe that the real life of any country could afford examples of such imbecile helplessness, such absence of aim, such extinction of all re- sources, among well-educated, and in some re- spects, eminently capable men, as the modern English novel (among magazinists especially) AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 179 portrays in every description of a nasty day at a British country seat. No novel could exaggerate Captain Trevan- nion. I felt, in beholding him, like a man who had read of the dodo without compromising himself by a belief in that bird, but who had at length lighted on an unmistakable survivor of the species in a trackless wild of some tropic island. Trevannion was one of those anomalous men who exist elsewhere as curiosities, but whom the philosopher must visit England to see in their full development and possessing a normal status among mankindnot wondered at because they are universal. Nobody is surprised at elephants in Africa; nobody would look twice at Captain Trevannion in England. With us ignorance of every thing beyond the blissful scope of ones own clique stands the out- ward and visible sign of thorough meanness of nature; enormous self-complacency, without the slightest effort to hide it or the least suspi- cion that it is a perpetual challenge to ridicule, is, prima facie, inconsistent with ones being an accomplished man of the world. But the aver- age high-born Englishman lives in a portable and impenetrable Grosvenor Square. Its rail- ing is not cracked by the summit frosts of Mount Blanc nor melted by the sun of the equator; the Grand Lama himself, without an introduc- tion, can not speak to him through its bars. He goes down in a diving-bell and wonders what our fellows would say if they were there. He would be ashamed if he could not be waked up at any hour of the night and give the name of any shire-town in England before he had opened his eyes; but he considers it rather praiseworthy than otherwise to be igno- rant of all remaining mundane geography. In this respect none but the Chinaman can be his parallel; and I am not sure but the Chinaman would by this time have abdicated in his favor, had he not drugged that pagan off the track of enlightenment by cramming opium down his throat at the point of the bayonet. Yet this Englishman, if you seek his best key, and touch it adroitly, is one of the most benevolent men in the world. He is a good, broad creature, tortured to death in a tight surtout inherited from Tudor dwarfs and Stuart sturvelings. In warm sympathetic countries, where he takes off his body and sits in his soul, you can see where our own superior race of Anglo - Saxons got s6me of its best qualities. The Englishman is an exception to all laws of moral classification. He may be an exquisite without being effeminate; a bully yet not a cow- ard; a braggart with foundation for his self- complacency. He is unjust, selfish, arrogant in private life, yet there are no hands I had rather fall into than his as a prisoner, if I have only shown pluck enough and done him the damage that makes him respect me. Trollop begins his Bertrams with the exclamation Vas Victis ! It is awful not to succeed in England. But if ones conquest has put England to her trumps she sets him on her right hand at Guildhnll feasts, and the Vie refers only to those turtle which bleed for his honor. Englishmen need a great deal of studybut to the patient they be- come intelligible at last. Like vice, they are Monsters of such hideous mien That to be hated need but to be seen; Yet when we grow familiar with their face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace. All this seems episodical, but is not; for it has amounted to a generic description of the typical Englishman Trevannion, and leaves me nothing to describe save his personnel. He was six feet high. His hair was a hand- some wavy blonde, parted in the middle. His mustache was yellower than his hair, his mili- tary whiskers a modulatory tone between ihe two. His manners were those of a great, green, conceited boy, brought up by hand by the relentless Mrs. Joe Gargery, of British tradition. His life was one long chronic sin against the canons of natural good-breeding; but he would sooner have been unjointed alive than to have offended against those artificial regulationswhicli proved his blood, gave him his entr~e at Al- macks, made him liked in his club, or secured his position in his regiment. He was twenty- four years old; I was twenty-eight, and on his social levelso I could be much patienter with him than if I had held in any respect the junior hand. His father had once owned the estate adjoining Nestledown; which fact ac- counted for his intimacy with the family, and his invitation to pass a summers furlough with them. He had the long upper lip and the short nose of his race which make so many English- men look like a gutta-percha head of Antinous pulled out lengthwise; his eyes were a hand- some blue, opened into a perpetual stare of as- tonishment the moment he got out of England. As we have seen, he said Aw ! and thought things prodigious, under circumstances whose tendency on our veriest American Hoosier would have been only to make him more cosmopolitan. A man whom one would gladly have had at his back in an Inkermana charge; but oh! what a dreadful comrade for any minor emergency like a rainy day at Nestledown! While he stood, backing the peat fire after the British fashion, glowering into suicidal va- cancy, and answering every attempt to amuse him in curt but not rudely intended monosylla- bles, I sat down before Miss Fitz Patrick and converted myself into a reel from which her deft fingers wound ounce after ounce of double zephyr into those gold and crimson fruits contaiaing the gems of some resplendent future Afghan. I was already in love with my hosts daugh- ter. I did not know it at the time, though I could see that the Captain was desperately en- amoredso much easier is observation than in- troversion to a man not past his prime. The Captain was a laggard in love, though far enough from a dastard in ~var. The mo- ment I took the skein on my extended hands I could perceive that the Captain was groaning 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. inwardly above the fire rug, to think that he had not snatched the halcyon opportunity and him~- self become the reel. That arrie~re peas& i was the final drop in a cup already brimming bitter- ly enough with Irish drizzle. Im afraid that you gentlemen will have a dull time, said Miss Fitz Patrick, with a glance at the unpromising sky. I assure you Im enjoying myself very much, I answered maliciously, looking straight at the fair speaker. The Captain smiled another of his superior smiles, and told Miss Fitz Patrick that he feared she was likely to have the worst of it. Saying this he looked directly at me. Oh no ! said Daisy, I dont dislike rainy weather; I think it makes me enjoy sunshine, and riding, and all the outdoor pleasures all the more when its over. I confess to the same feeling, said I, when Im imprisoned in pleasant company. The Captain bit his lip, being in a state of mind where lie found it easy to interpret my re- mark as meaning that he did not fall under that head. Aw! you Yankees are celebrated for your adaptability. Now, as for me, dye see Id much rather join Miss Fitz Patrick in a dash over the country on horseback than to hold all the yarn for her that was ever spun. I wish Id learned to crochet or work fautenil-cushions, or some- thing of that kind; then, dye know Id sit down and play Sardanapalus myself. But I never could learnfact is, my early education has been neglected. I believe you, Captain, I replied, if the true education is as I regard itthe education that gives a man the largest number of re- sources. I dont know what youll think of us Yankees, as you call Americans, when I tell you that I can knit, sew, crochet, wash and ironindeed have actually performed those feats when camping out in the wilderness a hundred miles from the nearest feminine assist- ance. Aw! that may be explained by delicate health in early youth. We chaps have too much rou0,h-and-tumble in our childhood to get time for those things; but Americans usually, I imagine, havent the strength of constitution to stand our athletic sportsand I can conceive of a frail boy devoting himself to fancy work as a very laudablenw, in fact, a very useful oc- cupation. The line between men and women is drawn much more sharply with us than it is with you. But I also know how to ride, box, fence, sail, row, swim, fish, and shoot. There was a certain significance in the tone of this italicized assertion, thoroughly recipro- cated in the voice and smile of the Captain as he once more pronounced that protean mono- syllable Aw! With the tact of a first-class woman Miss Fitz Patrick changed the subject to one of less dangerous ground. I seconded her efforts to draw the Captain into a conversation on the subject of his travelshe with several other gentlemen having made a yacht-excursion two years before to see the midnight sun and hunt walrus among the Scandinavians. But Duke Frederick would never have been foolish enough to say to Celia and Rosalind, Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him, had Orlando been an Englishman. British sulks rest on a base broad as Magna Charta; they sit on no precarious throne nor borrow leave t~ he. The Captain was not to be coaxed back into good- nature by strategy. lie hated America with all the stout rancor of a Tory; Lord Manners was his model statesman; Roebuck would have been but for his lack of pedigree. In me he saw not a man but an American; and even that ex-offlcio courtesy which an Englishman of the upper classes must at least exhibit to a lady only moderated the form of his expres- sions, not their animus, their tone, or the look which accompanied them. To see that demo- cratic Yankee holding skeins for the woman he loved, and to know that every thing lie did or said only compromised him before her by reason of its evident motive, almost drove him to mad- ness, and he became more impolite than it is possible for any other than an Englishman to be, all through sheer desperation. The North-Cape excursion suggested to him the immense fan which had been made of his party when Ross Browne met them on one oc- casion at the Geysers. Our witty countryman, on his return to America, published an illus- trated article, including a picture of the party just on the verge of burlesque, and an ~sccount of their baggage, which embraced every luxury purchasable at Cross and Blackwells, together with all manner of patent garments or shooting and cooking apparatus. When Browne asked them why they hadnt brought a bath-tub one of them replied with charming naivet6: Oh, moi deah fellaw! you know a man must put up with some privations when hes traveling in a wild country ! To this article, as miserably fallacious, the Captain referred with great indignation, acknowledging the an- chovy paste but denying the gooseberry jam. By the time Miss Fitz Patricks last skein was wound she and I had turned the conversa- tion a dozen times; but the Captain invariably led it back to his anti-American grievance. We were unable to agree upon any question what- ever. Miss Fitz Patricks position was so evi- dently uncomfortable that at last, uader pre- tense of paying a visit to Cholook~, I excused myself to the young lady and left the parlor. When I returned to my own room an hour aft- erward I found pinned against aiy door a note sealed ~vith the Trevannion arms. Opening it I discovered it to read thus: Mr. Schuiiler Von Ilearlem: Suc,During this mornings interview you took occa- sion to make several offensive remarks regarding both my country and myself abs to Indicate by your manner a state of mind even more offensive then your word,. I am a British officer; your invitation to the house of my friend AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 181 in the absence of other proof secures your position as a gen- tiensan. Therefore I assume that you understand the sat- isfaction which this mornings scene compels me to de- mand of you. Permit me to hear from you at your ear- liest convenience, mentioning the name of the friend upon whose services you intend to relyyour weapons, and the time and place you prefer for our meeting. I am yours respectfully, ALGESnsON M. S. Tzav& NxIoos. My first impulse was to accept the challenge. A few minutes reflection, however, showed me that the murder of one of Mr. Fitz Patricks guests would be an ill recompense for his own and his daughters warm-hearted hospitality; and I knew that this was exactly what our af- fair would amount to if I chose, as I had the right, my own familiar and favorite weapon, the breech-loading Ballard rifle at 100 yards. There was another obstacle in the way of my accepting Trevannions challenge, though I was only par- tially conscious of it at the time. Within the last twenty-four hours I had become dearer to myself, because I hoped some day to be dear to some one else. After fifteen minutes sober reflection I resolved on my method of dealing with Trevannion, and, wrapping myself in my aqua-scutum, went in search of him to put it in instant operation. I found him at the stables smoking a stolid, fat regalia while he superintended ~he groom, who was currying hia~ English thorough-bred. I invited him to walk with me, and, defying the drizzle, struck out across the fields to the back of the estate. I began the conversa- tion. I have read your note, Captain Trevannion, and am perfectly willing to accept your method of settling our affairs. The weapon is the rifle distance one hundred yards. As I am ac- quainted with nobody in this neighborhood but Mr. Fitz Patrick, and can not think of abusing his hospitality by selecting him as the second for one of his guests about to shoot another, I propose that we should adopt a method not un- usual in the Western States of my own country and dispense with seconds altogether. A~v, really, but thats a most unprecedent- ed thing, you know. Yes, on this side of the world. But I see no need of compromising any one else in our dispute. At any rate my proposition is the only practicable one. If you are too attached to precedent to fight without seconds, I see no- thing but to leave the matter just as it stands. In that case you will remember that I was not the one who threw obstacles in the way of our meeting. Aw, well, dispense with the seconds then. Bear in mind that I will fight if you wish, ~vhile you listen to another plan which has oc- curred to me equally honorable to both of us. For the sake of our whole-souled host and his lovely daughter I frankly confess that I should prefer not to fight you. It would be a source of great vexation to both of them were two of their guests to fight a duel at Nestledown. If one of us were brought back to the house bloody, dead, and disagreeable, while the other were compelled to save his own life by fleeing from the police, the pleasure of the whole sum- mer would be destroyed for both father and daughter. Aw! Well, if you are so delicate for their sake Ill accept an apology, and consider the matter concluded. Pardon me! not so fast, Captain Trevan- noon. I have not the remotest idea of apolo- gizing. I think that your behavior has been very bad; that you have been the aggressor; that you have permitted your insular prejudices to overcome your good-breedin~. I believe that cool reflection will show you this, and that the moment you give your native generosity a chance you will be ieadier to give than to ask an apology. We are men, dont let us act like a pair of sulky boys. My second proposal is this: Our unpleasant difference springs from the subject of horses and riding; as we have begun let us conclude; each of us has with him his favorite saddle-horse and his national accoutrements; both ourselves and our animals represent diametrically opposite schools; each of us has the fullest confidence in his own; ac- cordingly let us settle our quarrel by a race. Let us spend the rest of this week in training for the encounter. On the first fair day next week sire will select any good piece of road in the neighborhood and invite Mr. and Miss Fitz Patrick to take the judges stand. The matter will thus be settled by the arbitrament of skill us truly as if we matched our shooting instead of our riding, against each other. Not only shall we settle our personal dispute in this way but the question at issue between onr horses and our schools of riding. This method will, moreover, possess the pre-eminent advantage of saving our generous friends here all the distress and mortification consequent on our going out in the usual sense. We walked silently for a quarter of a mile the Captain smoking his cigar in short rapid puffs, which revealed the high-pressure condi- tion of his mind. At length he broke out: Egad! the ideas not a bad one. Agreed. I handed the challenge back to him. He tore it into small bits, and we returned to the house. After taking off our damp wraps and walking-shoes we met in the parlor, and Miss Daisy sang us back to good-nature with Moores s~veet melodies and a voice that sweetly matched them. I 4.HORSE TALK BY THE WAY. The sun next morning rose in a cloudless sky, and each of the four faces which met at breakfast reflected him in the shape of content- ment and good-nature. Isnt it splendid, papa ? said Miss Fitz Patrick. I dont know what we should have done if there were no more getting outdoors than we had yesterday. The Captain looked ruefully at this speech. His conscience made him interpret it as a deli- cate rebuke for the discomfort he had caused us 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. yesterday. I laughed and asked Miss Daisy if representation of the way the thing is done in this were a naive way of telling ns how stupid I California.~, she found us indoors. Good! Capital! cried Daisy, clapping her Oh no, indeed! If it had been stupid little hands. Onlyplease dont hurt the (which I didnt think) I should have laid all poor beast, if he is going to be barbecued to- the blame on myself, for I was responsible and morrow. you were my wards inwhat do they call the Not in the least ! I replied. Ill be as place where they punish the widow and the gentle as Earey. fatherless? Papa Fitz Patrick folded his hands whimsi- Chancery ? cally and implored Daisy for once to relax the Yes, Chancery. You see, to-morrow is rigor of the birthday ceremonials and let him papas birthday. Hold up your head, dear, and accompany the party. Hed so much like to tell the gentlemen how old you are. see a lasso thrown, and never might have such Twenty-two. a good chance again. Well, if hed be a very So you are, you little papanot a day over good boy Daisy would consent; and the foot- and youll stay there till I catch up with you, man was sent out to order still another horse. wont you? As I was just about saying, Im Though the Captain saw that I was to be the very indulgent to him, and always give him the inevitable celebrity of the occasion, I must do nicestJ~irthday party that can be constructed him the justice to say that he manfully denied ourof our wild Irish materials. I never let himself the luxury of the superior smile. him have any thing to do with it himself, and When we rose from the table we found our as I wanted one whole day to prepare the out- animals at the door. Mr. Fitz Patrick rode the door part of it, I am delighted to see the weather same sturdy little Galloway upon which he had so flue. Among other things were going to met me the evening of my arrival. A heauti- have a barbecue in a meadow a mile from here, ful black Arabian of fourteen hands bore Dai- all the tenantry will be invited to it, and both sys saddle. The Captains horse was a large you gentlemen will have an opportunity to see chestnut gelding, containing undoubted Eclipse regular Irish jigs danced by fifty couples at a blood, full of fire, without a superfluous ounce time; and to hear the harp that once on Tarns of fat on him; but with that convex neck and walls the soul of music shed, with bagpipe ob- perpendicular action of the fore-legs which could ligato. Brother will arrive here from Trinity not fail to set at ease any American horseman to-night, and in the mean time I shall have to who proposed to match him with a first-class leave you gentlemen in care of the eminent animal capable of keeping down to his work. beneficiary, as they say when they present serv- Beautiful as Inkermann was in all his outlines ices of plate. he was only a parade horse after all, for he had Why not let methe Captain and meat- never learned to economize his time and strength tend you as your faithful henchman ? (The by sticking close to the ground. The Captains Captain cast a grateful glance at me which face brightened as he looked at my Cholook~. seemed to say, I shant forget your magna- He said nothing; but I could see that he had nimity in including me! Poor fallow! He as little fear of my animal as I of his. Even would have solicited the privilege for himself Miss Fitz Patrick could not entirely conceal her two minutes later. His intellect always ignited disappointnieut at the looks of my horse. I with a damp fuse.) laughed inwardly to witness the impression pro- Let you? To be sure! I should have duced by poor Cholook6s ewe-neck and general asked you at first, only I thought it might be democratic bearing. I saw that if I had been stupid for you to go ambling about the estate a betting man, and chosen to take advantage of with a woman of business like me. If you the Captains inexperience, I could have booked would like to go, my Hadji will be at the porch my horse against his for a race of any descrip- by ten oclock. Brian, send word to the stables tion, taking odds of one hundred to one. Both to have these gentlemens horses saddled and he and I carefully avoided any reference to each brought up at the same time, and send Shaugh others beasts, and devoted ourselves to the ahead of us on his pony to open the gates be- praise of Miss Fitz Patricks Arabian. We were tween here and Kelpie Hill. Im going there equally reticent regarding each others accou- first, gentlemen, to select the ox for to-morrows trements. My own was a modification of the barbecue. Mr. Von Haarlem ~vill almost fancy Mexican saddle, relieved of all the weight nec- that hes among the Mcxican vaqueros again essary on the rugged mountain roads of the Pa- when he sees our wild herd. cific coast, but superfluous in older and smooth- A thought struck me. If youre willing, er countries. The Captains saddle was the Miss Fitz Patrick, Ill almost make you fancy slippery little pad universally used in England, so yourself. I have a genuine lariat in my sad- with stirrups hung two inches forward of their dle-bags, and though its two years since Ive proper position, and those polished irons which used it for any other purpose than as a picket- seem constructed for the special purpose of in- rope, my right hand has not, Im sure, so far security both to foot and seat. The Captains lost its cunning, that I can not, by the assistance head-gear was complicated as the rigging of a of Cholookt~, bring down any giant of the herd man-of-war, comprising snaffle, curb, and mar- you may select, and thus give you a miniature tingale. I had neither of these but the first. AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 183 Through a splendid avenue of old oaks, whose foliage was so luxuriant that the sun had not yet kissed the dew off the grass beneath, our cavalcade set off from the porch, preceded by the red-headed urchin Shaugh, riding a ragged little pony, with all the sense of importance shown by a drum-major or a brigadier of home- guards. The royal breadth of our road permit- ted us to ride abreast, Miss Fitz Patrick going between the Captain and myself, while her fa- ther occupied the place on my left hand. The elder gentleman took a great interest in my ac- coutrements, a ad I found real pleasure in ex- plaining them to a veteran horseman whose long experience had only made him more toler- ant of unfamiliar things. Mu. F. P. Doesnt your horse fret under the weight of that saddle ? MYSELF. Not at alL The saddle I used in Mexico weighs at least ten pounds heavier than this, but my horse never suffered from a chafe. Its entirely a matter of training and good care. If you never allow your horse to stand for an hour without taking off his saddle, and watch your blanket to see that it dont wrinkleif on stopping for the night you sponge his back with tepid water and a trifle of Castile soap, a well- trained animal will average his thirty miles a day over our roughest California roads for six successive weeks without the least abrasion of the skin or any loss of condition through fret- ting. MR. F. P. Bnt what advantage does your saddle offer to compensate for any greater weight ? MYSELF. The extra weight is a mere con- comitant of greater comfort and safety to the rider. The American saddle is the invention of a people who live in the saddle, and its char- acteristics are simply on the principle of making home happy. Nothing could be more tiresome than an English saddle on a long march. The back of my saddle, as you see, rises so high and preserves such correct anatomical curves that all strain on the sacral vertebr~u is done away with. This high pommel is not only the most convenient peg on which to hang the coil of my lariat (as you now observe), but in climbing the steeper passes of the Sierra I found the greatest relief to my horse and myself result from lean- ing far forward with this pommel as a support. I have slept on it, in safe districts, for three miles at a time. When we come to your mini- ature pampas you will see another important use for it as soon as I have thrown my lasso. THE CAPTAIN. But how about those gro- tesque stirrups 2 MYSELF. They are the only stirrup. Look at them while I demonstrate~ (I drew my foot out of the nigh-stirrup and raised the latter for inspection.) The frame, you see, is a tough hoop of young hickory bent into the proper shape. This is elasticno shock can break it; it is so roomy that the least touch releases the foot from it; yet the surface in contact with my boot-sole is either artificially corrugated or left so rough in the making that the wildest horse on earth could not dislodge my foot from it. For still further security this short shoe, or toe, constructed of the stoutest hide, is firmly at- tached to the hickory. With such a shoe no experienced horseman could by any possibility foul his ankle. THE CAPTAIN. Experienced horsemen in England are not in the habit of fouling their ankles with our stirrup. DAISY. Yet you remember how brother sprained himself by getting his foot quite through. Poor fellow! he could not leave the house for a month afterward; and he was al- ways called one of the finest horsemen in the country. THE CAPTAIN. Oh, aw, yes; I do know that there are exeeption~ to every-rule. But ~ must believe that the security of our stirrup is just about absolute where the rider knows his business. MYSELF. For a short pleasure-ride I will acknowledge it comparatively secure. Even in the Park there is great danger. Ive known numerous people thrown, or slipped off to be dragged several miles by their stirrup. Ive seen one person instantly killed by having his horse fall under an attack of staggers. Not being able to release his foot he was crushed like an egg-shell. DAISY. Your stirrups hang very differently from Captain Trevannions. At first I thought they had got awry by accident. MYSELF. Yes; mine hang exactly from the middle of the saddle; the Captains are about two inches forward of that line. ME. F. P. Whats the advantage of your arrangement 2 MYSELF. It is one of the fundamental mat- ters which distinguish our New World school of horsemanship. Without our stirrup neither this method of suspension nor our American riding- school would be practicable. All our English cousins laugh at the idea of their stirrup not being secure, though none of us need rummage his memory any great length of time to recall cases where it has killed or maimed the skill- fulest riders. Now see the mutual dependence of all the pieces of our accoutrements, and of these with the school. The slippery little disk of the English stirrup iron is so difficult to keep in constant rapport with the foot that you are obliged to remedy the matter by throwing it forward out of the line of the riders body, and shortening the stirrup-leather until his leg acts like an oblique brace. This arrangement, by increasing the pressure of the foot, renders the stirrup somewhat safer, but at the expense of grace and ease. When a rider rises in the stir- rup he must be perpendicular over his centre of gravity. To recover this position the English rider is compelled to bend so far forward that he looks like a man in pain, crouched over to such a degree that a shrewd Yankee boy whom I brought over with me to attend to Cholook$ used to compare him to a monkey on the top HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of a meetin-house. Now look at the effect of these individual errors upon the school of the horseman. Every time that his horse rises the rider makes a voluntary down-stroke with his feet, giving people who see him a painful, a sympathetic, or a ludicrous impression. If ever a man worked his passage it is he. Beholding him I am possessed of all the emotions I was just referring topius another of indignation at the people ~vho are willing to tire out both their own and their horses backs by doing for them- selves the work which would be purely auto- matic if they would only study nature and com- mon-sense. Who can see the race-pictures of this country without a sort of mirthful anger at the people who talk horse more elaborately and constantly than any on earth, yet ride with their knees tucked up under their chins and their bod- ies bent double ? THE CAPTAIN. Aw! I say, Mr. Fitz Pat- rick, what a pity that it has never occurred to her Majesty to employ Mr. Von Haarlem as private tutor for the Horse Guards, eh ? MYSELF. What shall he do who cometh after the king? Im afraid that another Amer- ican not long ago got the inside track for that position. I now smiled a superior smile my- self, as I added, I suppose you have heard of Mr. Rarey ? Miss F. P. Do you disapprove of rising in the saddle, then? I have always supposed that it was the true scientific method-indeed, great- ly superior to the style of sitting close, both in point of grace and of relief to horse and rider. THE CAPTAIN. Aw! Americans are gen- erally dyspeptic, and their doctors advise them, Ive been told, to let themselves be jolted like a sack of corn. MYSELF. I invariably rise in my stirrups, but not in the English fashion. My method is purely automatic: I make my stirrups lift me instead of giving them a separate kick at each lift of my horse. You see that my stirrups hang perpendicularly in the line of my body. I let the leathers out until tbey lack only about an inch and a half of the length of my leg. If they were of exactly that length I should be lit- erally standing in my stirrups, as upright as if I were on the ground; indeed, as you may notice, that is my apparent posture now. In fact, how- ever, were I now to stand in my stirrups there would be about one hand-thickness between me and the saddle. This inch and a half discrep- ancy I di~tribute through the three joints of the ankle, the knee, and the hip, bending each of them half an inch out of the rectilinear, and putting a slight but permanent tension into the flexor muscles of each. My foothold being as secure as if my sole were nailed to the stirrup, furnishes a point of attachment to a triple series of delicate springs. Nothing in the useful arts is so perfect for its purpose as this arrangement provided by nature for him who knows how to use it. As my horse lifts, his momentum com- municates itself upward in the line of my body. Were the stirrup in front of me it would either merely flex my knee, leaving my body to re- ceive the full jolt; put a most inordinate strain on my knee if I stiffened that joint sufficiently to lift my bodya strain quite unendurable for any protracted period, and analogous to hold- ing out ones own weight at arms-length; or compel me to restore my relations to the centre of gravity by throwing my trunk forward into the ungraceful attitude I referred to a little while ago, and rise by a separate impulse at every lift of my horse. According to the American arrangement the jolt is absorbed by three suc- cessive springs meeting it in the line of their greatest elasticity; and thus by the time it reaches my body it is practically annihilated. I exaggerated when I spoke of the distance be- tween me and my saddle as a hands thickness. A man in constant practice, even with the hard- est trotting horse, need not make the slightest perceptible rise. He only anticipates his sad- dle, does not get away from it. But I am ashamed of myself! I have been giving you a sermon where I only meant an explanation. You must know that reformers and lecturers are an indigenous growth in my country. Besides, if I have an enthusiasm in the world its for a trotting horse. Miss F. P. Im sure nobodys tired of your sermon. I could be preached to about horses all day longcouldnt I, Hadji ? And she patted the neck of her beautiful black Arab, who turned his head around to rub against her hand like a petted cat. ME. F. P. But why cultivate trotting horses? Is there any reason beyond the pres- ervation of a fancy stock, like pouter pigeons, or half-lop rabbits ? THE CAPTAIN. Just what I was going to ask myselfaw ! MYSELF. In America a gentleman is ex- pected to ride a trotting horseat least to know how; and the comparative difficulty of acquir- ing the art to sit a trotter gracefully no doubt makes it the fashion. But I also believe that it is easier for the horse on long stretches to trot than to canter or gallop. In tbe latter gaits a great deal of the animals energy is wasted in perpendicular motion, which does not help his journey forward a particle. Of course a horse can run much faster than he can trot, but he can trot much longer than he can run. The closer he sticks to the ground the less muscular en- ergy does he throw away, and the less does he pound his fore-feet. It seems to me that style and economy are both on the side of the trot- ting horse. I 5.THE LARIAT. We now passed Shaugh, his broad face, after the Page system of painting, laid in with one uniform ground of freckle, and glazed over that with an equally uniform grin. He had dis- mounted, and stood by his ponys head, cap in hand, holding open for us the gate of the wild- cattle park. The herd was a magnificent one, chiefly com 184 / AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 185 posed of black Highianders, numbering several or ascending the knoll to see the hunt at their hundred, and gamy as buffaloes. We could not leisure, as ~might please them best. Cholookii approach a group of them nearer than forty understood the manmuvre as well as if I had yards before their heads and tails began play- been able to communicate with him in the Mus- ing see-saw, and they scurried away at a speed tang dialect of Morgan, and stopped fretting the ~vhich would have delighted the most enthusi- moment I let him go, although I kept his gait astic of Mexican vaqueros. Miss Fitz Patricks down to a walk. Miss Fitz Patrick was aston- horse had such confidence in his mistress that he ished at him. did not attempt to shy, but as the veins throbbed See, she said, the creeps like a cat! Is faster, beading out his delicate skin, as his legs there any thing he cant be taught ? trembled and his small ears twitched nervously, He does that by instinctcompliment him, it was easily to be seen that he did not like the not his trainer, said I, as I took the coil of my looks of our game. My hosts little Galloway lariat from the pommel and cleared it for the stood stolidly indifferent as a saw-horse. The throw. Captains thorough-bred behaved so that his inns- Three minutes after this I broke cover. The ter was overwhelmed with mortificationstand- ox was within forty yards of me when he saw ing on his hind legs, prancing, swelling as if he me, wheeled and started off on a lumbering gal- would burst his girths, and jumping sideways as lop. This species of chase was so novel to Miss every new group stampeded in front of us. The Fitz Patrick that although I could have finished Captain rose many pegs in my estimation; for the job immediately I prolonged it for several he kept bpth his seat and his temper with a skill minutes by holding Cholook~ in and accommo- that showed the real man and h6~rseman under- dating his pace to that of the game. The young neath the glaze of Young Englandism which girl, satisfied that I would keep my promise and had made him so intolerable on a rainy day in- cause our victim no pain further than that of doors. exerting himself beyond his usual custom on a I say, Von Haarlern! Dont judge him or warm day, gave herself up so entirely to the en- me by this beastly behavior! He wouldnt act thusiasm of the chase that I was in danger of so if he heard a whole park of artillery going being distracted from the object of my pursuit off behind him, but hes new to this kind of to look at and admire her. She rode with the thing, dye see ? grace of a flying swallow and the fearlessness of Its not such a bad time to judge his rider a Cossack. Her golden hair had shaken loose as to judge him. I must congratulate you on from its net and was streaming back from her your seat. I dout see how it could be improved jockey (she had not been so corrupted by fashion except by a change of saddles. I said this in as to wear that universal English and all too com- a tone which Miss Fitz Patrick could hear, and mon American crime, a mans stove-pipe), Trevannion gave me an unconscious look of ex- like wind-driven spray from a fountain of sun ceeding gratitude. shine; her cheeks were warmed into that ex As for my Cholook~, he alone of all the horses quisitely shaded tint which has no like on earth exhibited positive delight. His ewe-neck went unless it be hinted by the inner pink of some In- up like a stags; he pricked his ears forward, dian conch-shell; her eyes that I once called a he danced, he pawed, he pulled at the snaffie, dreamy brown were full of joyful fire; her lips be snorted in a tone of almost human signifi- were slightly parted by childlike eagerness and cance; triumph and impatience bulged his eyes; quickened breath: and I frankly said to myself the rekindled memories of many an ancient that she was the most beautiful woman I had buffalo hunt filled them with fire. I was both ever in my life seen on horseback in either proud and amused to hear Miss Fitz Patrick hemisphere. Is it remarkable that I was able say to her father, in what was intended for an to note and chronicle all these particulars in so aside, Dear me, papa, who ~vould ever. im- short a time? Just remember, if you please, agine that was the same horse ? the oft-recorded phenomenon of people seeing a Knowing that she could not with safety get whole lifetime flash by them in a second when much nearer the cattle than we had succeeded they discovered that it was all up with them. in doing already, I unslung my field-glass and It was all up wit/i me! handed it to her, with a request that she would . I can imagine how my old chums of the use it to select my quarry from a group feeding plains and the pampas will laugh when they on a grassy knoll about a hundred yards from picture the man who so lately hunted buffaloes the spot where we had halted. She chose a and mustangs by their side dashing recklessly splendid fat ox, crossed between the native and with lasso in hand at a fat domestic steer on an Durham. The herd was browsing with hhads Irish pasture-field. Let those laugh who win! turned from us, and this particular ox was at the To make such a comrade so beautifully happy head of the herd. I resolved to flank him by as Daisy I would, fliute de ?nieex, have imitated going round the other side of the knoll, and our old colossal field-sports by tilting at cats in then to take him in front. To avoid the dan- a garret astride of a walking-cane! ger which the rest might incur by remaining An ox is not a buffalo, though a wild Irish where they were if I stampeded the cattle to- ox is liker one than most animals within civil- ward them, I requested them to accompany me ized fence or hedge, and it was not long before until I broke cover, afterward accompanying me the pace of the herd perceptibly slackened. VOL. XXXII.No. 188.N 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mindful of my promise, and of the fact that a long run would greatly deteriorate the quality of my game, regarded from the point of barbe- cue, I pressed forward and broke into the herd to select and separate the particular animal I wanted. I knew it would be dangerous for Dai- sy to follow me here, her horse being of course entirely untrained for vaquero purposes, and told her so. She replied ~ Ob! Im not in the least afraid! Ive perfect control over Hadji ! I leaned over toward her saddle and whispered: May I ask it as a particular favor to me, that you wont risk yourself? This was a very sim- ple thing to say, but the melting sea-shell pink of her cheeks deepenetl in hue as she heard it, and halting her Arab, replied: Yes. The Captain, who had not yet succeeded in getting his nervous thorough-bred within ten rods of us, and Mr. Fitz Patrick, who had staid back with him for courtesys sake, now rejoined her. The former smiled like the famous Spartan boyor as that heroic boy probably would have smiled bad there been a horse instead of a fox gnawing at his vitalssmiled and swore not. I so ad- mired his fortitude and gallantry that I wished that there were ten different things which he knew how to do better than I, that I might com- pete with him in each and get beaten in all. I do not wish to diminish the glory of his self- control, but, as he afterward confessed to me, he had got through all his swearing before Miss Daisy returned to her father and himself. It consisted principally of ingenious imprecations on his own head, to take, effect if he did not send his brute to Tattersalls the very day he got back to London. Five minutes more and I had separated my ox from the herd. My lasso whizzed as deftly as if it felt a pride in its national reputation, and ringed both horns of the steer. These were very broad, so I regarded that throw as the best and most difficult I ever made. There was a brown - eyed inspiration behind me! Though I had no time to bow my acknowledg- ment, I could distinguish a ladys voice in the cheers with which my fortunate cast was rec- ognized. Feeling this novel fillet about his brow, the ox put forth fresh energies. I let Cholook~ press him closer, and gathered in sev- eral yards of slack, my end being held by half a dozen turns round the saddle-horn. Pressing still closer I came upon his flank, and dropped a bight of the lariat near his fore-feet. As he fouled one of them I reined Cholookd in. The horse had not forgotten his American training; cceiuin non animos, etc.you know the rest and instantly went down almost on his haunches, like a bird-dog, planting his four hoofs deep in the turf. The ox gave one tughis very best but could not break the lariat nor pull Cho- ~ook~ head over heelsthe only way in which any good vaquero-horse can be upset. Of course my game was not aware of this last fact, so start- ed to run sideways. Cholook~, without a hint from me, wheeled at once as on a pivot, and again put himself in exact line with the strain. This time th* ox got inextricably fouled, and went down on his knees. Before he could con- sider himself and make an attempt to come up again Cholooki and I had thrice made his cir- cuit, winding the lariat around him as long as it would last. I then dismounted, and leaving Cholookd without fastening of any kind (a con- fidence which he never betrayed by stampeding), proceeded to tie the steers legs with little hop- ples of braided leather-rope, extemporized by myself that morning. Last, I got my lariat clear of him, coiled it once more around my pommel, and returned to the knoll, where I re- ceived welcome from the brightest pair of eyes that ever rewarded a man for doing somet